Something Like the Truth: Book One
by FlyingWithoutWingsLove
Summary: Abigail Williams, a young and sarcastic twelve year old American girl, ventures towards London to attend Hogwarts. But is she who she claims to be? Potential romance will spark later on.
1. Charmingly Fake

**Something Like the Truth**

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely**

**Chapter One: Charmingly Fake**

My fingers ran along the cool edge of the high quality camera that was presented to me on my tenth birthday. Its vivid red neck band hugged its self securely around my neck like the old friend that it is. Forty five minutes have passed since my flight touched down in London and my right index finger has not left that burnished knob since.

I captured everything I could into my potential canvas of a frame. Sometimes the figures looked up smiling; other times they were too engaged in their everyday tasks to even acknowledge my presence. Despite their lack of enthusiasm, my ecstatic temperament was all but hindered. After all, I was nothing more than your common spectator. Nothing more, nothing less.

Regardless of their mood, their presence was always captured into the moving bounds of my three by three frame. I tipped my hat off to whoever created the marvelous invention of progressing pictures. _Brilliant_, my mind wondered over the flock of pigeons fleeing before a slightly rusted wheel of a bicycle. A mere flock of pigeons perhaps, but when they flew – oh how lovely to have your wings glide along the edge of the vivacious sky never having to come back down, being free for all eternity!

A certain faint ringing sound was brought to my attention. I felt my eyes open before I glanced over my watch with nothing more than a disdained expression. "Does this have to be now?"

* * *

Harry was currently being forced into a bookstore by his friend's mother as she hastily cleaned over him, circling around and then smudging a few spots with her thumb. He always enjoyed her presence considering how he could never remember his own mother. He always imagined that she would be something like Mrs. Weasley, always fussing over his lack of proper posture and rugged hair. He would always be grateful towards her.

The sudden bursts of excitement interrupted their grooming session as a man with golden wavy locks and bright blue eyes that scanned Harry relentlessly descended from a grand staircase towards a prestigious oak table covered in volumes of books. "Harry Potter," a rich yet aloof voice was finally matched towards the characters physical disposition. "I never imagined that you would be here for my book signing, yet here you are." His strained laugh hinted towards Harry that it was nothing more than an imposter. It seemed that his cheery disposition was nothing more than a starving act for attention. Camera men swooned over towards the corner as they took picture after picture of Lockhart shaking Harry's hand with an enchantingly fake smile.

The bursts of lights fuzzed Harry's mind for a moment, blurring the world together. His small smile fell to a frown after making out Lockhart's speech of him oh so generously handing over his entire collection of his most prize works free of charge. However, it was strictly from one hero to another. He was then pushed out of the way as Lockhart spent some quality time back in front of the camera.

Harry stumbled back in front of Mrs. Weasley who caught him on his way down from his few minutes of fame. In a shattering daze, it reminded him of the time he first learned his true identity. He was no longer the mere boy with feral rich locks forced to live as a muggle on Private Drive, no he was much more. He was a wizard. In an instant he went from a nobody living under the stairs of his Aunt and Uncle's home to learning sorcery at Hogwarts as "the boy who lived," a hero amongst every witch and wizard's heart who opposed the cruel nature of the one called Voldemort.

The majority of the line in the book store consisted of girls who were swooning over every Lockhart's "act of kindness." Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley was no exception. "Isn't he wonderful Harry?" She batted her brown eyes at the man with golden hair and pearly teeth. Even Hermione was looking a bit heated from the excitement.

"You have to excuse mom, she fancies him." The two twins known as Fred and George explained as their mother waited eagerly in line for her chance with her hero, occasionally stumbling over others for a peek.

The small sound of a bell bore a strong crisp ring from the entrance but was then drowned out by the excited crowed as it dispersed throughout the room. It rang in Harry's ears causing him to ponder over the idea of a familiar face in the crowd. He took a glimpse towards the door to see a thin, frail girl rubbing her head. She tenderly made her way into the room, choosing to stay absent from the swarm of fans. Her cheek had a thin cut and her hands were bruised. Her shirt and jeans were smudged with dirt as well and her long honey brown hair was ruffled up a bit in a couple of places. It looked as if she had been mugged and the first thing they took was her dignity.

She noticed Harry staring at her and she managed a frail smile. "Sorry, it was my first time using floo powder. Powerful stuff." The girl answered still a bit dazed from her new found experience, something that Harry could relate to. Her accent told the story of a far away place, perhaps America. He was about to begin a session of twenty questions but was interrupted from a snide comment.

"Bet you loved that Potter," a sickly pale boy with light blonde hair on the verge of a snowy white and piercing grey eyes annunciated, producing saliva over the boy with the lightening shaped scar. "Famous Potter, can't even go to a book signing without making the front page."

"Perhaps no one told you, but when you try to annunciate you generally aren't suppose to spit over the other person," the mugged girl answered back slyly, a glint of satisfaction twinkling in her dangerously cobalt eyes. Perhaps she was not as frail as Harry once thought.

* * *

The sickly pale boy's insult rang through out my ears and latched itself upon my mind. I couldn't simply let him get away, so I threw a slight insult in his direction to diverse the tension between the two and disperse it. I wasn't expecting much of a protest back, perhaps a snide comment, but not what happened next. No, never what happened next.

The boy, desperately wanting to be a man, held him self proudly as he stretched to his full length, hoping to intimidate his pray. He should have realized that a child is a child no matter its size. "Oh look Potter," cutting sharply across the Ts, fusing them into one, "you've got yourself a girlfriend."

With my attention span, or lack of one, I happened to notice the foul glares that this apparent Harry fellow's friends tossed at the serpent presuming to be all in a day's work.

"Must be a muggle with the way that she dresses. No doubt one from America." I despised the way he annunciated my home land as if it were nothing more than garbage rapped in a plastic coating of propaganda. I understood that it was far from perfection, but please, by all means, direct me to a place that isn't.

My sharp intake of breath and preparation of malicious commentary were cut short from a rather illumined, cold, steal snake. Its mouth was posed permanently open, illustrating its readiness to pounce. It pushed the arrogant boy aside showing its master to be a middle aged man with the same degree of pale skin and platinum blonde hair but to his shoulders. Disregarding their looks, their crooked smile was convincing enough of their biological connection.

"Now, now Draco, play nicely." His cool voice was enough to freeze beer let alone his piercing stare. They seemed to posses the power to look past your flesh exterior down to your veins for "a better sense of judgment."

Looks can be deceiving but with that crooked smile, there was no chance of bluffing. He was up to something and it surly wasn't a tea party. It slowly spread across his face once he caught a glimpse of Harry. "Mr. Potter," he spoke as if the two were acquaintances but one bewildered glance from Harry spoke otherwise. Presenting a stiff arm towards Harry in a poor attempt of shaking hands, he introduced himself. "Luscious Malfoy," his smile recoiled back into a frown once the thought of status entered his mind. Pulling Harry in closer he spoke of a quick forgiveness as he brushed back Harry's bangs with the teeth of his cane. Fearing his own words he spoke the rest in whisper, "Your scare is legend. As of course is the wizard who gave it to you." The sly smirk returned with vengeance.

Harry's startled expression fell to one of dread at the mention of the Dark Lord. Backing away suspiciously, making sure not to sever eye contact, Harry spoke softly despite the rather touchy subject. "Voldemort killed me parents. He was nothing more than a murder." I could feel his confusion sinking in as to why or even how someone could praise let alone worship someone as foul as him. I remembered it as being my own when I first herd of his story. I for one found it hard to believe at first if it weren't for the substantial amount of proof.

Luscious paused to mull the thought over as his smirk was once put back to rest. "You must be very brave," he concluded, "to mention his name." Alas his smirk returned at the thought of Harry perhaps being a fool instead.

"Fear of a name only increase fear of the thing itself," a bitter girl no older than I spoke harshly in defense. Her words alone instantly gave away her position of possessing the intelligence in the group. Her stance was rather timid at fist but with each waking moment she began to stand her ground, holding her books defensively.

Luscious' target now switched as he turned his undivided attention towards the girl with the frizzy brown hair. "Ah yes," he looked back towards his son looking for a nod of approval before revealing his last sentence, "Miss Granger. Yes Draco has told me all about you," He stood before her highly, fully aware of her status and his upper hand. "and your parents," he added in a whisper as she was persuaded to steel a glance at her mother and father awkwardly answering questions from a plump red headed man who seemed at ease and content with his life. I distinctly heard something about a rubber duck but it was not finished before the conversation heated up once more. "Muggles aren't they?" The girl's sharp glare followed by the unwillingness of her lips to move showed she no longer had the will to argue.

One by one, he was making his way down the line. I knew he would soon come to me but I encouraged it. Let's see what skeletons he can make dance in my closet. His attention was diverted towards the other male in the group possessing a thin physic with gangling twigs as arms and fiery red hair. He was doing his best to produce a sneer but coming short by only looking daft. "Let me see," a chuckle was now heard in his tone, "red hair, vacant expression, tatty second hand book," he spoke clutching a small leathered school book from the smaller of the girl's cauldron. "You must be the Weasley's," he confirmed with a sour expression disproving their life style.

I was beginning to grow tired and impatient of his attempt to cut us down. My thoughts of protesting were sadly halted at the sudden appearance of Mr. Weasley I presumed.

"Children," I never knew a world could be laced with such a heavy accent until now, "it's mad in her. Let's go outside." It was an obvious attempt to rescue us from our fatal destruction, yet no matter how courageous it might have been it failed. And now I fear that he may be sucked into our little game as well.

"Weasley senior," Luscious smiled slyly, obviously from already preparing an insult.

"Luscious," the friendly man's face fell from being caught. Neither one looked pleased to see one another. Apparently I had no clue what I was getting myself into.

"Busy time at the ministry Arthur? All those extra raids, I do hope they are paying you over time." His eyes fell back to the tattered book in hand. "But judging by the sate of this, I say not." He held the book between his fingers twisting it in the light, examining it, yet cautious as to not come more than a foot with in contact of it. His face suddenly hardened at the sight of their youngest daughter. "What's the excuse of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, drawing the cold stare of the rigid man in front of him. "We have a very different idea about what disgraces the name of a wizard, Malfoy."

"Clearly," his harsh tone knew no bounds. "Associating with muggles," his upper lips curled baring his teeth before he replaced the tattered book back to its rightful owner, "and I thought your family could sink no lower." The rest of the conversation did not matter to me nor do I recall how it ended for I was to busy eyeing the girl's cauldron. Perhaps my eyes were deceiving me but I could have sworn that he placed another book with the girl having strikingly brilliant red hair that flowed past her shoulders. Her green eyes looked upon her father in confusion and hopes of an explanation. She must be a first year. I, on the other hand, was not the only one suspicious of Malfoy's confrontation for Harry too eyed her cauldron.

I fazed back noticing that the one known as Draco had to have the last word. "See you at school," he nearly sang as a threat before he walked out close upon the heels of his father. But before he decided to grace us with the absence of his being, he raised his eyebrows raised in a provocative way leaving me in disgust.

"I only have one question," I decided to speak out once understanding that no one else would. "What are muggles?" I asked on a lighter note.

"A general term associated towards average people possessing no magic." Miss Granger explained while rearranging the books held securely in her arms.

"You're from America," the younger Weasley boy stated after inhaling a gulp of air as if he had been holding on to it for good luck with their previous encounter. His mouth, hanging slightly ajar, gave the impression that he was not through, but in the eyes of Miss Granger he was.

"Wonderful observation Ronald," She stated sarcastically with a roll of her amber eyes.

Ron scowled in her direction before continuing, "What I meant to say was that surly you would have muggles where you're from. If not muggles, then what do you call them?"

"Human beings," I stated sarcastically but with a small smile in hopes that he understands that it's all in good fun.

Apparently Mr. Weasley did not receive that memo. "Fascinating," I heard him mumble. "Do you mind elaborating?"


	2. Trains, Planes, and Automobiles

**Something Like the Truth**

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely**

**Chapter Two: Trains, Planes, and Automobiles**

Before I realized it, I was being accepted into their circle of trust, meaning introductions all around. It turned out the Weasley's had an impressively large family, all with that illuminate red hair. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had a total of seven children; one daughter, being the youngest, and the rest sons. The seemingly quiet and polite daughter was named Ginny. I assumed it was her first time traveling by floo powder as well for her face was smudged here and there with remnants of soot from a chimney and her front braids were tangled and hugging her glistening face. Despite her rather rough appearance, she was quite adorable. Their youngest son, Ron, stood with an inane expression, slouching between his two friends. His thin lips stretched across the majority of his chin in a small smile. Next was a pair of twins who could only be expressed as children on a sugar rush. Fred and George were the names they introduced to me but failed to mention which one was which. Percy, another son, introduced himself as well in a dignified manner, being sure to drop a couple of hints that he was to be a prefect this year. Later, Fred and George explained to me that they tried to swipe the badge from him but failed considering he never took it off. I couldn't help but to laugh along with their family, seeing as they were all so friendly and eager to meet someone new. There was talk of two other sons but they had already graduated and moved away much towards their mother's demise.

Next were Hermione and Harry. They were both friendly and greeted me with the warmest smiles that I have ever seen. However, neither seemed really there. I assumed that Hermione was still a bit bitter from the insults thrown around earlier, yet Harry was a mystery. The corner of his mouth turned up towards a grin, contradicting his cloudy green eyes. He was contemplating something, but what, I am not sure.

They all looked in my direction and I began to realize that it was soon to be my turn to talk about myself. I inhaled deeply and braced myself for their oncoming questions. I quickly introduced myself as being Abigail Williams or Abby for short.

"Where are your parents dear?" Mrs. Weasley started the round. Concern shone in her rich chocolate eyes producing a motherly disposition. She smiled sincerely towards me hopping to encourage a quicker answer.

"They are still in America. They were unable to leave their jobs."

"Why did you come here?" Hermione suddenly asked. "Not to be rude or anything, but it is extremely unlikely for someone to be accepted into Hogwarts their second year. Usually everyone gets their letters by the age of eleven."

"Well, I always had a fascination with British accents," I joked before revealing my true reason after a quick sigh. This was going to be harder than I thought. "It's a long story. I accidentally blew a hole in the roof of my potions' class. Apparently I broke a school policy or something," I stated with a role of my cobalt eyes. "There was no harm done," I explained quickly once noting their worried looks. "My potions teacher actually laughed it off, being an accident, yet it was my parent's idea that a change would be good for me." They nodded in agreement yet Percy eyed my suspiciously comparing me to Fred and George.

Fred and George chuckled after a bit mumbling something about how they always wanted to try that but the thought of their potions teacher, someone by the name of Snape, convinced them out of it. Their mother than slapped them upon their shoulder and scolded them from thinking of such an atrocity. Ron shuddered at the thought of his gruesome professor as we all chuckled before turning back to the matter at hand.

"Are your parents magical as well?" Percy asked next with his chin held up high, barley looking down upon me.

I suppressed a giggle at the thought of comparing it towards a cheesy pick up line in a bar. "No. I suppose you would call them muggles."

Hermione seemed to relax after the comment, content in knowing she was not alone. A quick dip of their head signaled their understanding before the questionnaire continued.

"Did you blow up any of your other classrooms or was it just potions?" One of the twins asked with a corky smile before his mother interrupted with another brutal hit towards the shoulder and mumbles of something that sounded like manners.

I simply laughed it off before answering, "No, I like to keep it to a minimum of one class per year."

We began talking for quite some time before I excused myself to continue my shopping. We agreed to meet at the train station seeing as I had no clue as how to arrive at Hogwarts. I was becoming partially convinced that you had to complete a jig while standing upside down on a table as the twins explained.

A soft chuckle pressed against the barrier of my lips as the thoughts of the one called Percy completing an Irish jig filled all potential thoughts. I wondered aimlessly down the cobbled street of Diagon Alley after purchasing my desirable text books from Flourish and Blotts. It seemed that the ever so generous Gilderoy Lockhart denounced our little encounter with the Malfoy's as nothing more than a settled dispute over his award wining novels which coincidentally happens to be on their forth week on top the best seller's list. It astounds me of how the arrogance of some people seems to elude others.

Something skimming past my left shoulder jerked me back into reality where I was currently walking amongst a rather congested street. It turned out to be nothing more than a fly yet it led me to Eeylops Owl Emporium. Feeling that some nice owl treats for Indi were in order for that bribery was always the best policy for sending letters. And I had a feeling that my quizzical parents were expecting a letter every weekend judging by the breath taking hugs each one gave me before my flight.

My fingers pressed against the cool glass of the heavy steel framed door revealing a world of paradise in a convenient owl size. I wondered aimlessly down the aisles, hoping to kill what little time I had left in the busy streets of London.

* * *

Harry and Ron ran vigorously towards the pillar that separated platforms nine and ten after watching Ron's family pass with ease, all except for Ginny of course. For years she has watched her brothers run through the barrier to be swept towards Hogwarts and it was finally her turn. However, that did little to ease the creeping insanity in her mind as she thought about her actions. She was running into a wall after all. The little one was a bit hesitant at first but with a solid run under the soles of her shoes, she flew with ease through the barrier. Her parents soon followed, feeling best for her not to wonder too far from their supervision.

Harry and Ron waited patiently for their turn but with the utmost disappointment were unable to pass. On top of their small act of failure, their belonging were now scattered across the station and they were earning some rather rude looks from a couple of passer byres, muggles naturally. Even the attendant could not deny this level of commotion and flocked over to see the two trouble makers. He continued to eye them suspiciously even after Harry managed to explain the horrible inconvenience of his trolley slipping from his grasp. The plumped attendant left the two to gather their belongings, mumbling something about rotten children.

"Rotten luck mate. We should have waited for Abigail." Ron spoke softly, the realization of the manner sinking in slowly.

"Abigail had nothing to do with this," Harry speculated as he traced the brick pattern down the now solid pillar.

"Harry," Ron began and Harry knew that nothing good would come from it. Whenever Ron began a statement with his name it was usually followed by foul news. "If we can't get through, then maybe mom and dad can't get back." The worried was begging to etch itself upon the shallow line of the twelve year old boy's face as his eyes grew twice in size.

"Perhaps we should wait by the car," Harry proposed. He felt it necessary to remove Ron from a heavily crowded area before he continued on with his nervous breakdown. Much to Harry's surprise, Ron's expression changed as quickly as the barrier.

"The car," Ron announced in astonishment.

"Hope I didn't miss anything," they heard a familiar voice from behind. "Is there a reason why the two of you are sitting down this close to the departure of the train?"

The two turned to face Abigail with a playful smile spread across her thin lips. She reminded Harry of a cat waiting for a ball of yarn.

"The barrier is closed and I think we already missed the train," Harry explained as his eyes drifted over the pillar once more.

"Wait," she spoke in an incredulously tone. "You mean to tell me that I was going to have to pass through a solid object to arrive to Hogwarts? Is all of London mad or is it just the one possessing supernatural powers?"

Harry might have chuckled if he was in any other situation, but he couldn't find the strength at the moment. He turned his attention back to Ron realizing that he had been tugging on his loose sweater sleeve for a while now. "What is it?" he asked annoyed with his friend's primitive social skills.

"The car," Ron announced once more to regain his friend's train of thought.

* * *

If you asked me that very morning what was the worst possible scenario I could have been in, I would have completely over looked this one. I was currently strapped in the back seat of an old Ford Anglia whose sky blue paint was currently chipping off in certain parts.

"Ron, are you sure you know how to drive a car?" I asked with my fingers sinking into the uncomfortable plastic seating.

"It's not the driving part that I am worried about, it's the flying," Harry added once strapped in comfortably in the front seat. My fingers sank even further down into the plastic. My stomach was up to my throat once the realization of the matter had dawned on me. No one mentioned flying.

"Nothing to worry about," Ron said trying to convince even himself. "I've watched Fred and George fly this thing countless of times."

Gaining the position of the thinker in the group, I pulled out a scratch of parchment and began to scribble away madly upon it. I informed the headmaster of our little predicament and implored him to be reasonable upon the matter.

"Harry, may I please trouble you for your owl?" I asked innocently.

"Sure," he responded but with an incredulous look, "but I don't understand why you need to send a letter at the moment."

"Girls mate," Ron piped in. "They're always talking."

"For your information," I tried in my best interest to not snap at Ron, "I'm sending a letter to the head master to explain our situation. Of course if you want a detention, then by all means stop me." My tone was directed towards Ron.

"Great another Hermione," I heard him mumble as he rolled his eyes.

I let loose the snowy white owl whose name escaped me at the moment. Never the less, that did not seem to damper her new found freedom. I gingerly attached the scroll of parchment upon her leg before letting it fly off somewhere towards the West. Amazing creatures. I sat there admiring her from a distance before the sudden awakening jerk of the car brought me back to our little adventure.

Ron started the car with a jump of his own, surprised that the steel beast gave way under his control. He carefully brought the car towards the air, favoring the break a little more than appreciated.

Pretty soon I was able to look out from the car down upon the busy streets of London. I glanced down at a couple of muggles who stared back. Some spilled their continents from their shopping spree upon the sidewalk in astonishment. Apparently Harry saw this as well but he did not seem to think their bewildered looks as humorous as I did.

"Ron," Harry spoke up over the silent squeals Ron made whenever the car jerked. He obviously never tried this at home before. "I should tell you. Most muggles aren't accustom to seeing flying cars."

Ron nodded in agreement before staring puzzled at the dashboard. Finding what he was looking for, he pulled a rather shinny lever thus turning the car invisible. Right, because that would have been my first guess as to what a lever in a flying Ford Anglia would do.

The rolling hills of London, that I never knew existed, were soon unraveling before us as we cruised down the international highway in the sky. Ron was currently flapping his hands wildly in the wind as he tried to scare a flock of pigeons into possessing some common sense. He feared that their annoying presence would fly themselves straight into the hood of the car if they were not careful.

Harry, on the other hand, was more concerned for our lives where he jumped at the wheel the instant he felt the car veering askew. Ron had previously warned us that the bugger occasionally steered towards the left if unintended.

I stretched in small movements, cautious of the bird cage next to me. It felt as if hours have passed by since our feet were secure on solid ground. With each passing moment I began to loss my faith in Ron's flying skills. This little act of self righteousness pushed my judgment over the edge. I felt my body become rigid and I felt no need in glancing down at my hands. I'm sure my knuckles were painted white from anxiety as well as they were clutching towards the plastic fabric of the seats, leaving small indentions that were sure to last long after they freed themselves from this mess.

"Ron," Harry began once comfortable in the passenger seat, "shouldn't we try to find the train?"

"Right," Ron agreed absent mindedly. The car sputtered as an obvious refusal for dropping back towards the troposphere. We flew over a flat, grassy hill that was brandished by a bed of wild purple flowers. A track that stretched miles above the ground spread out in a serpentine pattern as it crossed itself around and through various mountains. The track's white paint that was chipped across the top from years of wear and tear seemed to contrast greatly towards the lush rolling hills that surrounded it. Ron cautiously steered the car upon the track, hovering a few inches above it.

Harry expressed an immediate need to find this train and Ron agreed absent mindedly again. However, this time a faint state of worry shown in his pale eyes as he scanned the horizon. A growing whistle was hard to deny as it made its presence know across the country side.

"Did you hear that?" Harry's eyes glanced back towards Ron, wondering if he was loosing any sanity he had left. It was always hard to tell with wizards.

An elated smile was present on Ron's face the moment the siren went off. "We must be getting close." Their eyes continued to scan the horizon but with no luck found their desire.

"It sounds as if it's coming from –" I heard my voice trail off as I glanced behind me to be greeted by an old fashion, black train that was dangerously close on our tail. "Behind us," I finished barely audible above a whisper as I stared at the great steel monster threatening to devour us all. It was so close in fact that I was able to make out the identification numbers to be 5972. If there was any doubt towards the purpose of this train, the pale red sign reading Hogwarts Express was sure to relinquish any confusion.

The whistle blew another angry round as steam arouse from its depth. Screams were clearly distinguished from the front of the car as well as the back as Ron made a fading attempt to steer clear of its presence. A hard jerk towards the left did the trick. However, it also caused the car to spin out of control. Ron jerked the wheel every which way, trying desperately hard to stay clear of the angry steel beast beside us.

Between spinning out of control and screaming for his life, Harry must have accidentally opened the passenger side door. Hands gripping tightly across the small handle, he kicked wildly in hopes of finding some sort of platform to lift himself from.

"Hold on," Ron screamed above the commotion of the train. Harry gave an expression that clearly stated that he had no interest in letting go as he looked behind him towards the rhythmic beating of the train wheels. The car rose higher in the air, something Ron thought might help. It only made Harry's green eyes wider in fear as he now saw the entire train instead of a small, fleeting part of it.

Out of instinct and pure adrenaline, I leaped across towards the passenger seat and beckoned Harry to grab my hand as I tore away at the seat with my other one. His arm fought against the harsh blows of the wind but it soon found mine. Much to our demise, it slipped the first time causing a fleeting gasp to escape my already skewed lips and Ron to jerk the car harshly away. Harry swayed in the wind, dangling only a couple of feet above his death. His hand sound found mine, a sign stating he had no interest in giving up yet, and this time I refused to let go. I pulled him in with all of the upper body strength I fooled myself into thinking I possessed. Harry swung one of his legs into the car as he positioned himself to leap back into the comfortable passenger seat he was only in moments ago. With luck he swung himself back in and closed the door abruptly behind him. Dazed, I found my way back towards the seat in the back.

"I think we found the train." Harry's voice was washed out from his previous panic attack. Ron could only nod in agreement as he panted with his hands securely on the wheel of the car.

That little adventure was soon over and it cleared the way towards a light hearted conversation. I presume they were still curious about the new girl because they continued to bombard me with questions, distantly allowing me a certain reference of time to answer before moving towards the next one. I guess the fact that I live over seas didn't help my cause either.

"What house do you think you'll be sorted into?" Harry asked in pure curiosity as his eyes remained on the landscape ahead, something they never strayed from after his near death experience.

I stared at him, baffled as I equated the relevance of my definition. "House?" Perhaps it meant something different in England.

"Yeah, you know house," Ron continued on as he tugged the car towards the left to follow the winding path of the train. It sputtered in protest but bent towards his will after a moment of hesitation. "Hogwarts has four of them. Your sorted into one based on your personality and you stay there for the rest of your years there. They're suppose to be like your family away from home." A shrug of his shoulders signaled he was out of information. It honestly wasn't a lot to start with.

"This is the first time I've heard of them," I replied in thought as I wondered what house I would be in and how they will even determine. The pressing thought of an Irish jig lingered on but somehow managed to brush it aside.

"Don't worry," Harry stated softly in that reassuring tone that hinted towards his knowledge of my hidden apprehensive disposition. "You'll probably be sorted in to Gryffindor with us."

"Nah," Ron argued from behind the steering wheel. His one word was enough to captivate the attention of Harry and myself. Anxiety presented itself again through my clenched hands and rigid shoulders at the thought of him not accepting me tore away at the corners of my mind until it reached the center. "She's more of a Ravenclaw."

My shoulders released in a sense of ease from his light tone yet my hands were rendered incapable of releasing the now dented in seat. I was sure that they wouldn't let up until we were safely on the ground once more. I felt my brow furor as my mind traced along the edge of the eccentric names. "Is that a good thing?" I was almost hesitant to ask but my curiosity took hold, something that happened quite often.

"Fine," his tone was bright with cheer before turning sour, "as long as you're not in Slytherin." Ron's last word was laced in a bitter abhorrence that seemed far greater than any he could possess. Harry's chuckle encouraged me to release a nervous laugh of my own. I soon found myself hoping that I wouldn't be sorted into it.

The rest of the ride was filled with more moments such as these. It was idle chit chat that had similar topics as favorite food, color, and book. You know, the usual things you asked towards someone who saved your life.


	3. Crash landing, literally

**Something Like the Truth**

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely**

**Chapter 3: Crash landing, literally**

Hours had passed before we reached the end of the lake, painted dark blue by the fall of night. A castle was growing in the distance, stretching before our very eyes. From such a width away it looked as if it were floating on its own, like it was magic. As we grew closer, ever inch took my breath away. By the range of mountains surrounding the estate, it looked safe and suspended from time. It strikes me as something you would find in a fairy tale, a beige stone castle that rested upon a rocky ledge that rose several feet above the sea of abyss. The faint glow of candles illuminated the windows and accented its great structure by casting off long, twining shadows across its nooks and cranes. The pointed domes that rose from the very chambers seemed to pierce the clouded sky themselves. My legs itched to explore the magnificent structure laid before me.

"Welcome home," Ron announced with a jubilant smile towards their safe journey. The car, however, seemed to have other things on its mind for it sputtered and jerked about causing a panic stricken Ron to look down upon the wheel in disbelieve. His grip tightened as he made out an upcoming wall that didn't exactly look inviting to land into. The car swayed under his grip before loosing control and turning down into a nose dive. It was beautiful from the start. I'm sure the judges would have presented nines across the board except for the one eight, compliments of Russia. It soon became jerking as it veered towards the left and spun out of control. At least this time Harry didn't feel obligated to open his car door this time. He did however scream "up" several times towards the frantic Ron who threw back his own screams of "I'm trying." Perhaps if I was not in a life threatening moment I would have laughed upon the resemblance they shared with a certain favorite American couple, Ricky and Lucy.

More screams filled the interior of the car as I sat in a state of shock in the back. My fingers took the liberty to define the laws of Chemistry as well as Biology (when they decide to break the rules they refused to mess around) and entwined themselves with the upholstery of the car. I could feel the stitching loosing under my grasp, revealing the malleable foam that tickled the very tips of my fingers.

Harry made a lunge for the gear shift and tried to yank it free from its jammed position. Ron clawed his way towards it as well and with the help from both boys, it relented into a sinking position that caused the car to glide straight ahead instead of its usual serpentine pattern.

The rest seemed to move so fast. Faint images were all that I could remember as they embedded themselves into my mind one after the other. A tree followed by Harry's yell, Ron's screams of "stop", the snapping sound of wood, more screams, a blue haze that was faintly lighter than the night, and a crash. From all of this I have gathered that we hit a tree, much against Harry's will, and Ron broke his wand in the process. The car teetered along the top knob of the tree, long enough for us to exhale before it sank down, being sure to snap any branches in its way, until it rested upon a lower ledge.

It was at this particular moment that Ron's gaze was free to fall upon the broken remains of his wand. It was clear from where he used excess force against the steering wheel for it hung limp, almost tired from its battle. The last strand of bark was the only thing standing in the way of a single stick of wood and two pieces. "My wand," Ron managed to babble out with a shrieking octave that could have made dogs barked. "Look at my wand." His tone was disbelieving as he shook the remainders of his wand, as if to highlight his point.

Harry's eyes, glazed over from the last bit of adrenalin, scanned over Ron's wand before looking at him directly with an exasperated look. "Be thankful it's not your neck."

"We may have bigger problems," I felt the need to interrupt from what I saw moving beyond the plastic coated windows.

This gained the boys immediate attention as something caused the car to rock uncontrollably and place the horrible sinking suspicion upon the pit of our stomachs that led us to believe that this was far from over. "What's happening?" Ron shrieked out, barley understandable. I became lost in his translation wondering if he was truly speaking English or some British tongue that I never heard before.

It was Harry's voice that brought me back to the pressing matter at hand. "I don't know." His voice remained at its normal pitch, unlike his friends. However, panic was etched into his final word as the car began to teeter again.

A low moan brought our attention towards an abnormally large branch that was heading straight towards us. Naturally there was more screams as it bashed into the hood of the car. I scrunched down lower in my seat, bringing my hands up to catch any shattered glass. The empty owl cage was pressed uncomfortably upon my side and I could feel the bitter twinge as it scratched against my bare arms. However, I was too preoccupied to notice. "What the heck kind of tree is this?" I exclaimed in exasperation only to be overshadowed as another branch made contact with the back window. I felt the light yet dangerous presence of glass rain upon my back that made me shiver uncontrollably. I constricted my movement, not particularly wanting to stumble upon any stray remains of glass. We were attacked from all ends, leaving us hopelessly clueless as to how to get out of this mess. The dinted in roof became enough for me as it sent my patience over the edge. It was apparent there was no out towards this unless we made one. "Hit the gas!" I heard my voice echo through out the car and its demanding tone sounded eccentric even to my ears. In a daze Ron obliged. The car jerked forward and from a last push from the tree, it sent the car flying down towards the ground where it laid beaten and betrayed.

Harry's voice was drowned out by the tree's moaning as well as his own hoarse tone. It sounded similar towards "move" but I couldn't be certain. Regardless, Ron pulled the car into drive and sped away at the sight of the great tree bending closer towards them. He swerved, barley missing the scattered branches and stopped just short of a courtyard. Looking back in baffled glances, we saw the tree resume its normal position. It stretched higher towards the sky, as if boasting about defending its territory from three misfortunate children. The boys shared looks of vexation as my mind wondered over what else could possibly happen at Hogwarts. Perfect timing, for the car doors swung out in annoyance as its seats hurled us several feet from the car. The trunk opened to spew our luggage across the dew misted grass. In a mocking tone it ejected two cages; each one flying into the hands of the boys as it drove off hastily, not bothering to close its trunk. Tire tracks were all that remained of the incident. We chased it towards the edge of a dark forest that looked as if it would be inhabited by all sorts of things that went bump in the night.

"Dad's going to kill me," Ron stated bleakly with a sigh. He looked towards the future in a desolate gaze as he waited for the inevitable. Something in his lingering expression told me of how often these incidents seem to occur.

"Insane." My mind finally traced upon the contents of the word as minor flashbacks played in my mind like a broken, run down projector, fixating on only one image the entire time, the car. "Absolutely insane. Do you do this all the time or only when you have guests?"

Harry chuckled and replied with a simple no as Ron stared at the edge of the forest, unmoving. "Come on," Harry announced as he tugged upon his friend's sleeve, "we should go inside. We've probably already missed the sorting ceremony."

"McGonagall is going to murder us Harry," Ron said in a detached voice that seemed as if he had given up his will to live.

"Not if we hurry," He replied, slightly irritated at his friend's lifeless disposition. He pulled again at his sleeve and this time managed to drag him inside. I followed closely behind, carrying bits of luggage until Harry informed me to leave it with the rest. It would be in our dorms by the time we make it up after the feast. I was amazed at this small wonder and part of me wanted to stay and see how it was done.

Harry was in the mist of explaining all the crazy and outrageous things that have happened to him over the summer and small bit of time he was here when he stopped to notice someone walking towards them. It was man well into his thirties with two sheets of oily black hair framing his droopy face that was topped of with an abnormally large and hooked nose. His beady black eyes never moved from the small children in front of him as he approached with a couple livid steps, obviously not pleased by their sudden appearance. Whoever he was, we could clearly scratch off knitting club as the topic of this following conversation.

Harry explained in a rushed whisper that this was the infamous Professor Snape.

He directed us towards his rather dark office that was filled with jars of things I do not even want to think about, much less describe. The yelling session soon commenced and we, Harry, Ron, and me, were forced to sit into a chair until it was over.

He held up a newspaper whose headline read "Flying Ford Angela Mystifies Muggles" in lacy black writing. A picture even accompanied the article. Lockhart's book signing followed our misfortunate even and the only thought that followed was one of his disappointment as he noticed his book signing did not make the top headline. I contained my snickering for this Professor Snape seemed like the type of character you don't randomly burst into laughter in front of. It was such a pity too because it could have spared us from a rather drawn out and boring lecture.

"You were seen by no less than seven muggles," his tone matched his dreary disposition as he held emphasis upon every word. He abruptly snapped the paper shut and violently slammed it upon his desk to reveal his look of enraged disappointment. "Do you have any idea how serious this is? You have risked the exposure of our world! Not to mention the damage you inflicted upon a Whomping Willow that has been on these grounds since before you were born." Emphases was held upon his last five words as he scanned the faces before him for any more means to expel them this instant.

It was Ron who surprisingly spoke up. "Honestly Professor Snape," he trembled upon his words, begging their professor to see the predicament from their point of view, "I think it did more damage to us."

Apparently this was not the formal apology he was looking for as he shot us a rather rude look before snarling on the continuation of his speech. "Silence!" He paused only momentarily for Ron to shut his mouth in a gulp. "I assure you," his hands repeatedly crossed over one another as they inched their way further upon the table towards us, his feet moving slowly behind them, "that were you in Slytherin and your fate rested with me, the three of you would be on the train home tonight!" His slight pause was enough time for the seriousness of his words to sink in to our mind. He sneered at us showing his tarnished teeth. "As it is –"

"They are not." Faint words that held a power of their own rescued us from the ranging mad man. A tall, elderly man with rusted red robes and cap that rested upon a cascade of thick and wiry white hair that flowed down towards his mid back. There was a beard that equaled in color and length and, sitting securely upon his nose, were half moon spectacles. He was accompanied by an elderly woman with icy blue eyes and pursed lips. It was clear that she fell under the certain circumstances as Professor Snape when given word upon our lavish arrival. Harry made them out to be Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall but I was more worried as to what they had to say instead of who they were.

"Head master," Professor Snape composed himself only to stick out a ridiculing finger towards us similar to that of an accusing child. "These three have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. As such –"

"I am well aware of our bylaws Severus, having written a few of them myself." A curt nod was followed towards his direction before he continued. "However, as head of Gryffindor House, it is for Professor McGonagall to determine the appropriate action."

I was wondering where I fit upon the circumstance but I would far more likely to be judged by the strict elderly woman than the raging wild man. It was Ron who answered for me by stating in a low and routed tone, "We'll go and get our stuff then."

"What are you talking about Mr. Weasley?" This Professor McGonagall looked upon him as if he were speaking some sort of eccentric language that was hard to decipher.

"You're going to expel us aren't you?" He sounded pitiful as if it were his life that she was taking away and not his education. He could not even find the strength to look upon her.

A faint smile spread across her lips as she mulled the boy's words over. "Not to today Mr. Weasley." Her gaze fell upon me as a warm friendly one. "It seems that young Miss Williams managed to save your necks this time with a letter she directed towards the Headmaster, explaining your situation." The boys looked upon me with friendly smiles and I felt one tugging at the very corners of my lips. Her tone fell back towards its original bitter sweet dialect as she was reminded upon the pressing danger the matter could have inflicted. "But I must impress on the three of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing towards your families tonight and both of you will receive detention." This was enough for the two's spirits to be momentarily crushed.

"Both?" I questioned as there were obviously three of us.

"Yes Miss Williams," McGonagall replied, turning her attention back upon me. "I am afraid that it is not up to me to decide your punishment. That is, unless, you are sorted into Gryffindor."

I found myself hoping once more that I was not sorted into Slytherin for I would have to return home shortly after my arrival. Despite the anxiety that bubbled inside me, I followed her and Dumbledore towards his office. It was guarded by an unusually large gargoyle that stepped out of the way the very moment Dumbledore appeared in eye sight to reveal a winding set of stairs. Upon entering his office I was mesmerized by all of the trinkets he had. They were scattered across his desk and shelves, reflecting bit of light that passed their way.

"Please have a seat Abigail," Dumbledore spoke softly as he fetched an old worn out hat whose wrinkles resembled that of a face with long thin lips and an eyebrow that was posed up quizzically. He placed it gently upon my head as the corners of the hat curled up in delight from a fresh mind.

"Ah," the hat chimed in a wind blown voice, "Abigail Williams." Of all of the things I imagined hats to do, talking was not one of them. I sat there, debating whether or not to hold a conversation with an intimidate object. It was magic however and apparently anything goes in Hogwarts. "Such a ripe mind," the voice trailed leaving circles of confusion upon my mind. "A healthy thirst for knowledge, a kind heart, an unforgiving tongue, and a need to prove yourself." It was then that I realized he was talking within my mind and how it was purely a way for my subconscious to decide my fate. I shivered uncontrollably at the thought of something foreign entering my mind against my will. "I see you have already figured out my game. Intelligence will get you far," it spoke softly as it pondered in mid-thought, "If you use it wisely." I could hear the cunningness in his voice and felt no need to look upon his expression for surly he would be smirking. I shivered involuntarily upon the thought of him knowing something that I did not, epically when it concerned my fate. I could tell he felt it lingering upon the hinges of my mind but we both refused to dig deeper for the meaning or at least a name to call this odd sensation. Maybe one day I will question him about his words but as of now he was preparing to make his decision. "Must be Ravenclaw," it announced and this time I heard its rumbling, gruff voice through my ears and less with my mind.

"Very well," Dumbledore smiled upon me with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes that reassured me of my existence at Hogwarts. A sigh of relief escaped my lips as the fleeting thought of expulsion left my mind. "Professor Filius Flitwick is the head of Ravenclaw and will also be your Charms teacher. He will show you towards your dorm where your luggage will be awaiting your arrival." He informed looking upon a crestfallen McGonagall. I assume she was looking forward towards having another Hermione in her group.

Professor Flitwick was a short, elderly man. He came no taller than waste height upon me. He had a splotch of white hair that seemed to cover the majority of his face and head except for the thinning top. He talked with a high and unusually squeaky voice as he informed me upon the history of Hogwarts and my house, Ravenclaw. He wasted no time in presenting me with a glorified badge that seemed to be blue in nature, brandishing a bronze eagle and lacy words that read "Ravenclaw" upon the top, fanned out portion. He seemed pleased to have me in his House and I was not about to disappoint him by not listening towards his drawn out speech. It seemed repetitive in parts but at least he made sure to not skip anything I may find interesting. Truth be told, the only interesting thing I found about it was the end. I was tired from the several scares I encountered today, not to mention the awfully long plane ride I encountered to come here, and the only thought that was on my mind was that of sleep.

He informed that I would have detention alongside Harry and Ron for our actions but I refused to mind seeing as it was better than expulsion.

He led me towards the west side of the castle, towards the fifth floor, and up a tightly wounded spiral staircase. What stroke me as odd was how the door neither had a handle nor keyhole. It did, however, sport a bronze knocker in the peculiar shape of an eagle.

"Simply answer her question and you are free to go inside." He smiled upon me, awaiting my immediate action.

I became hesitant and suddenly fully aware of what I was doing, talking towards another intimate object. I knocked once upon the heavy wooden door and surly this awoken the bronze creature sleeping soundlessly upon the door.

Without skipping a beat, it awoke to look upon me with cogitating eyes. It smiled upon me as its mind formed a riddle, the likes of which would surly be difficult. "What belongs to you but others use it more?" Its voice was calm and feminine, something that I felt was odd considering its proposition in life.

My mind traced over the meaning of the riddle and fell upon bar tab as a witty response. One look upon Professor Flitwick's eager face dismissed my answer as being wildly inappropriate. Instead, my mind formed a new answer. "Your name?" I asked tentatively. The thought of humiliating myself in the eyes of my teacher on the first day was not one of fondness.

"Splendid!" He cried with a cheerful smile as his mouth formed the words once more. The knocker seemed to agree as the door swung open, beckoning me in by the soft glow of fire crackling happily in a near by fire place.

Graciously, I accepted its offer and steeped into the grand circular room. It was wide and airy with a dome ceiling painted as the night sky. Everywhere I looked seemed to have some resemblance towards the House's colors. Blue and bronze silk wall hangings covered the walls but parted briefly to reveal gracefully arched windows here and there. Each one provides a different, spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Bookcases stretched across part of the room that held hundreds of volumes of books, each one about a particular subject. Tables and chairs were scattered about but only added towards the studious atmosphere that followed upon entering the room.

"The dormitories are located beyond that door," he gestured towards the only other door in the room that was opposite from the one we previously entered through. "Girl's dormitories are on the right. Your room, as well as the other second year girls, should be the second to last," He informed with another beaming smile before bidding us ado as he left me to fend for myself.

To my amazement, none seemed to be up. The common room was abandoned from any life except the occasional flutter of flame. I assumed that I was late in my arrival but not this late. Cautiously, I walked up towards the only other door in the room, wondering if I would have to answer another riddle. Much to my enjoyment, there was a door knob present on this one. Before opening the door I could not but help my eyes from wondering over the elaborate, life-size, white marble statue of what I presumed to be Rowena Ravenclaw wearing what looked to be a diadem positioned next to the door. It seemed to be the only cherished treasure in the room, that and of course the phenomenal book case.

I soon found my way towards my new room and bed that brandished a bronze name tag that spoke my name in a lacy script. Regardless, I did not make time to notice every small detail about the room for I was now exhausted. I simply kicked my shoes of and slid under the enriching dark blue covers. Everything else could wait until tomorrow morning.


	4. Whisper, Whisper, Secret, Secret

**Something Like the Truth**

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely**

**Chapter four: Whisper, Whisper, Secret, Secret**

**A/N**: Thanks for the review and towards all of you who added this story into your favorites or alerts. I hope you continue to enjoy it and thanks again!

* * *

The exotic noise of chattering soon filled the girl's dorm room and it was mildly because of this I woke up dazed and slightly disoriented. I was unable to pin point my exact location but, if having to give a guess, I would say that I was no longer in Kansas.

Heat danced upon my face as I could feel the morning rays of sunlight welcoming me towards a new day. The heat felt oddly soothing and I soon found myself struggling to stay awake. Groggily, I lay upon my bed with my eyes shut, hesitant of this so called morning and the light it produced. Somewhere between the state of blissful slumber and reality, I deciphered the muffled sound coming from the room. The bits and pieces that managed to carry themselves towards my restful ears sounded oddly like the idle chatter of gossip, fresh upon the teenage girl's mind. Two or three severally hushed voices could be heard delicately form across the room.

Questions such as "is she the new girl," "was she the one riding in that flying car," and "isn't she from America" passed around the room, each one receiving a distinct answer that was just as mildly outrageous as the last. At this point I was surprised they hadn't already accused me of murder.

Deciding now would be the best of times to make my grand entrance, I lazily opened one eye to survey the room before allowing the other to peer open in an identical sluggish fashion. I stretched beneath the starry night covers in a desperate attempt to waken my muscles. With little hope, all they managed to do was prop me into a sitting position. The thought of breakfast soon tempted them and brought forth the much needed desire to touch the hard wood floor. "Good morning," I chimed nonchalantly, hoping to give off the impression that I was only intent upon studying the backs of my eyelids and less of their conversation.

"Morning," they chimed, grateful for the bait. Despite their developed minds, their acting skills were quite mediocre. They stared upon me in a state of self induced shock as they hung themselves upon every word. Shoulder to shoulder they stood as I imagined them as a ring of sausages, unable to have one without the others. This thought surly produced a low grumble within my stomach that could have easily and thankfully been mistaken as a natural moan from the wind bitten tower.

"Are you really from America?" One of the girls, a tad bit braver than the rest stepped forward and reveled herself to be Su Li. Her dark eyes formed a disbelieving glance that fell heavy upon my sudden awaken mind. She was clearly the Alfa of the group for she stood taller than the rest, as if to boast her accomplishment and place. Her jet black hair briefly touched the small of her back as she cocked her head to side in a way to examine me thoroughly. Her dark brown eyes, appearing almost as black as her hair, scanned over me intently in hopes of finding anything faulty with my disposition. It was then that I noticed the two other girls tucked behind their leader, but still sneaking looks towards me, awaiting my answer.

"Yes," I replied slightly dazed from the early integration. "I'm from Georgia. Atlanta to be specific," I added hastily to ease their inquiring gazes. Broad smiles stretched upon each of the girl's lips as they beckoned me to continue explaining.

In turn, the girls seemed quite easy to befriend; all intrigued by my stories of a far away land. It was not long before we formed a pack, often as friends do. In the short time we spent in the dorm, waiting to be let out towards the Great Hall for a much needed breakfast, I got to know the girls. Brief facts stuck in my mind about each one, like Su was Chinese or that Mandy has the complete Sherlock Holmes collection and even that Padma has a twin who was unfortunately sorted into Gryffindor. With the brief information given towards me along with the rushed introductions, I was able to distinguish the two girls in the back to be Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst. Both were good friends of Su, their bubbly and slightly vain leader.

Padma had a dark complexion that was completed by long, gleaming black hair, rich brown eyes, and a face to make boys crazy and girls envious. It was much like Su but it lacked that certain vain flair that demanded attention and instead presented a more natural look that seemed to comfort her quite wonderfully. It was obvious that Su was tad a jealous towards her but it seemed to only strengthen their friendship.

The other girl, Mandy, was a small one with auburn hair that covered the majority of her face, almost as if she wanted to hide from the world. Her dark blue eyes seemed to follow your every movement, questioning its importance as she deciphered the color of your soul. She informed me that mine was less of a certain color and more of a collage that changes often. She reassured me that it was a good thing and it suited me quite nicely. She was quite nice despite her timid appearances and she seemed to fit the Ravenclaw's motto of "wit beyond measure" quite nicely.

Clumped together, we walked towards the Great Hall, gossiping along the way. Truth be told, I was the one doing most of the talking. It was not in me to deny them my story, especially when they were so eager to listen. Occasionally they interrupted me with comments or brief questions about my home.

Upon entering the great hall, my legs found it harder to move as my eyes were rendered incapable of pulling themselves away from the majestic ceiling. A clouded sky replaced the normal painted dome of the ceiling in a way to reflect the actual whether of outside.

"That's nothing," Su's voice danced in my ear, leaving me in wonder of what could possibly be better than this. She brushed the complicated incantation off as if it were a simple party trick. "You should have seen it during the sorting ceremony. Speaking of which," she looked upon me in a quizzical glance, "where were you during the sorting ceremony. I don't remember you there."

"I was busy flying a car into a tree," I retorted a bit uneasily and therefore hoped to pass the entire thing off as a joke with a small, almost minute, chuckle. I still could not believe the incidents that occurred as my eyes scanned the Gryffindor table and rested upon two boys who were eating vigorously, something I felt I should be doing at the moment. In the hustle and bustle of our arrival it seemed that everyone was frantic to sort me into a house and safely put me there until morning that thoughts of food escaped their mind entirely.

A soft gasp from the three girls brought on the thought that food would have to wait as I explained my journey to them. "No way," Padma shrieked with delight. "I didn't know there was someone else with them." This was my cue to launch into the story as we sat down towards the buffet piled upon inviting gold platters that gleamed under the flooded light of the sun mixed in by the assorted candles. The three listened intently upon my explanation, giggling all the while. I left out the owner of the car, feeling it best to have us seem as if we stumbled upon the nightmare and did not create it ourselves.

They sat around me in a dreamy daze as I was happily left to consume my food. However, something gained my immediate attention as I started down into the contents of my goblet to be met by an assortment of gray feathers. Gingerly, I picked up the winged creature, noting the disgusted looks of my fellow Ravenclaw friends.

"That's Ron's owl," Padma explained through her dismayed expression. "He's always landing into people's food."

Nodding absent mindedly, I stretched out from under the table and approached Ron, his winged friend cupped in the center of my palm. "Ron," I began delicately as I held out my hands, "I believe this is yours."

"Errol," Ron called in disappointment as he accepted the gruffly as well as droopy owl. His eyes widened in horror as he looked upon the red envelope he was carrying. It was then that I noticed it too and felt it to be slightly odd and out of place among the other white envelops and letters students received as smoke poured from its corners.

Errol, obviously tired from his journey, slumped back down towards the table with his feet dangling in the air for Hermione to prod gently. The thought of life was questionable among this worn out bird.

Ron gasped as his face scrunched up in horror. An "oh no" was clearly audible from him.

"It's all right," Hermione reassured the group as her prodding ceased to give her analysis, "he's still alive."

"It's not that." Ron rolled his eyes in a scornful look towards Hermione, now questioning her intelligence based upon her, apparently, silly response. "It's that." He gestured towards the letter that I could swear was smoking profusely. It looked quite normal other than this slight flaw but Ron and another boy, who later introduced himself to be Neville, looked at it as if it was sure to start World War III.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked tentatively, just as oblivious to the matter as I was.

"She sent me a Howler." Ron spoke faintly and suppressed a gulp as he hesitantly reached for the steaming red envelope. It seemed that he now gained the entire table's attention for people turned franticly, not wanting to miss a moment.

"You better open it, Ron," spoke Neville, barley audible from his timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" – he paused long enough to gulp – "it was horrible." Shock settled into his face as the memory resurfaced in his mind. Apparently it was not a fond one.

Through a moment's worth of noted silence, Harry asked the question that was on the majority of people's minds, "What's a howler?" His gaze, as well as mine, fell back down towards the small envelope that looked only able to produce a frail paper cut.

Ron failed to respond for he busied himself in pondering over the letter as well as hearing Neville's words of encouragement. Ron reached a shaking hand towards the letter and pried it from the owl's beak. Neville hurriedly stuffed his fingers into his ears and the entire hall soon found out why. For a moment, I thought it had started another war for it shook the room from the sound it produced. Plates and silverware teetered from on top of the tables as the pictures dangling on the walls threatened to fall and only add towards the growing sound.

" – _**STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY HAD EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE –"**_

Despite the noise, it was one of the most fascinating things I have ever seen. The envelope folded over itself in the shape of an origami mouth, even pointed to form the line of lips. The tongue was composed of a piece of ribbon that hung on the outside of the envelope for decoration. The letter folded in on itself as well to form white teeth and a mouth with blackened words etched into its white. By now everyone was gawking at the mouth, suspended in mid air from its rage towards the poor Ron who sunk so low in his seat his fiery red hair was the only thing visible. From the shrill voice I was able to detect it's presence to be known as Mrs. Weasley. It was odd to hear her voice echoing through out the halls in such an ear splitting matter. I was still faintly used towards her kind words and was unable to believe she could become this upset. It made me wonder what she had done to the twins for surly they were no angels.

" – _**LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HARRY AND ABIGAIL –**_ _**"**_

At the mention of my name I felt the twinge of regret pull heavy upon my stomach as I sank down with it behind Harry. One glance towards him told me he felt the same. We both failed to realize how sever this was, not towards us or towards this world we try so desperately hard to hide away from everyone, but to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the very people who care for us. I felt so awful that any shred of hunger immediately evaporated to the point of nausea. How could I have done this to them? How could we have done this?

" – _**ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED – YOUR FATHER IS FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME." **_

Those last six words rang trough out the hall, weaving in and out through the children's ears. Feeling satisfied, the note tore itself up and became ignited in rage till there was only ash. My mind traced over what just happened as we sat stunned from the blast of words. It was apparent in Harry's sick expression that he was thinking the same as me. What have we done?

Questions buzzed through out our head, picking at our brain, leaving us strangely hollow as we stared at the remains of Ron's scolding. Mine was sure to follow but I thanked my lucky stars my parents were muggles and didn't possess the faintest clue towards the horror that is the Howler.

It was Hermione who broke the silence with her smug words that we so well deserved. "Well I don't know what you expected, Ron, but you – "

"Don't tell me I deserved it," Ron pulled from his daze long enough to snap at her. It was on this note that I decided to return back towards my own problems, not particularly wanting to hear more words of disappointment. I sank back down upon my seat, strangely heavy despite my newly developed hollowness.

Mandy passed me a fresh goblet and I gratefully took it, suddenly aware of the dry lump that was throat. Hesitantly I looked down into the goblet to be met with a strange orange liquid that sloshed upon the sides once moved. It looked cool and refreshing despite the possibility of it being carrot juice. "Um," I started in a small voice that was even faint towards my ears, "what is this?"

They looked upon me, odd glances fixed. "It's pumpkin juice," informed Su with an expression that could have been mistaken for concern. I could tell from their looks they were now questioning my sanity.

"Pumpkin juice?" I asked incredulously. I heard her crisp words perfectly but was still unable to decipher their meaning.

My question was met by another. "Haven't you ever tried it before?"

After a brief shake of the head no, I timidly placed the goblet towards my lips and tasted this exotic concoction. It chilled my mouth and washed away any bitter taste, replacing it with one that was sweet. It tasted oddly like Ice Tea but with a hinted spice to it. I could feel a small smile tug happily upon the corners of my lips from my obvious enjoyment as I rested the goblet securely under my lips, prepared to take another sip. This seemed to reignite the friendly conversation as Su took the stage and directed it towards herself.

"Bragging about yourself again Su?" asked an airy voice that carried the sound of laughter along with it.

"Shove off, Kevin." Su dismissed the charming boy with a roll of her dark eyes, clearly irritated about the questioning of her position.

Laughter followed as a group of boys took seats next to ours. They introduced themselves in a frenzy hurry that all sound fuzzed together in incoherent babble. From what I gathered and pulled from clips of Su and Padma, I was able to at least form names to the blur of faces.

Kevin Entwhistle was the full name of the charismatic boy who apparently had some sort of history with Su. It was easy to tell there dislike for each one made no effort to hide it. Snide comments floated around the table towards each one and ended on the abrupt note of Kevin's foot being smashed in. Regardless of his jeers, he always smiled despite Su's words to cause him immediate pain. His physic was nothing that earned him bragging rights over, average weight and height but slightly toned forearms. However, what set him aside from the rest were his golden wavy locks that could have made Lockhart jealous as well as his luminous blue eyes that seemed to twinkle with life. I could be sure in saying that there will never be a dull moment with him.

Opposite from Kevin sat a lanky boy who contrasted greatly towards him with his deep embedded frown. Stephen Cornfoot was the name given to this dreary boy whose face looked as if it refused to cooperate with his bone structure for it sagged and fell long, as if it did not posses the energy to become elastic. His sandy blonde hair fell in strands upon his face, covering his dark set eyes away from the world. It was apparent that his personality matched his grim disposition for the only words he spoke were that of depressing statistics that could overcast any happiness of the world. His nose was constantly buried upon the pages of a book, one that must have been filled with suffering or else he would have put it back ages ago.

Next to him sat a trio of boys and one girl who was trying to bewitch her fork to fight off a comrade. She was known as Morag MacDougal and around her sat Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot. Morag was mainly known as Mac by the guys and obnoxious by Padma and Su. She whole heartily refused to act like her gender and was persistent in her tomboy appearance. Her light brown and wavy hair brushed slightly passed her shoulders from her mother's orders or else she would have cut it shorter a long time ago. She had light blue eyes that seemed to smile at you, despite your actions. I found her quite humorous, especially in her clumsy manner because it assured me that I was not the only one who could trip over their own two feet.

Anthony, a prim and proper boy who had a piercing stare of green eyes and heavily jelled blonde hair, seemed to disprove of her behavior for he nagged at her quite often. She would only brush it aside and call him Annie like in her childhood.

Terry Boot seemed to laugh heartily upon the matter, teasing his friend. He was of average height and bulk but with auburn hair that hid flacks of gold, reminding me of a mid summers day. He had rich chocolate brown eyes that looked upon his friends warmly.

The last boy, Michael, was similar towards dear Annie for he kept himself proper but his mess of a black hair seemed untamable. It was deeply similar towards Harry's and again I felt the ping of guilt bubble forth in my stomach from thinking so.

His voice ripped me from my thoughts as I stared back into the dark brown eyes that contrasted greatly with the pale ivory of his skin. His gaze was cool and calculating as was his voice but I imagined it was only because I was new.

"I read that the majority of Americans were dim witted and focused too much on raging diplomats." He seemed to be curious towards my reply but I was too irritated by his words to tell him if what he spoke was true or not. I found it odd because he did not strike me as the type who would be so forth coming and rude, but never the less, the ball was in my court and I was not about to go easy.

"Well that's just fascinating." I could hear my words finely tuned with sarcasm as they seeped through my mouth, completely undetected by my own mind. "I remember reading somewhere that the majority of Englishmen sit around sipping tea and saying 'Jolly good ol'chap' towards one another." My gaze fell lazily upon his cup of steaming Earl Gray before traveling back up towards his slightly pinked face. "I guess two out of three isn't bad."

"Touché," he muttered through out the giggling of the girls and the snorts of laughter from the boys and Morag.

Our conversation was cut short as Professor Flitwick passed around pieces of paper. I stared at mine bewildered by its blank attire. I nearly dropped it when bold writing formed across the surface. It seemed that we would have double charms with the Slytherins first today and from the groans of my fellow Ravenclaws I was able to decipher that this was not a good thing.


	5. Happily Muggle Born

**Something Like the Truth **

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely **

**Chapter 5: Happily Muggle Born **

**A/N**: So I was happily writing this morning when BOOM hate mail! So I will like to take the time to clarify any confusion you may have. Whenever the story switches towards first person then it means that it's through Abby's point of view. The story switches between first (Abby) and third (any character) person. As of right now the main character in the third person point of view is Harry but that will change later. Do not worry though because I will always put their name at least in the first sentence. I will always separate them with bars as well. I also want to apologize to those of you who think that this is _boring_ (I even put it in italics for you ObsessiveCullenFan) but I can assure you that I have many things planned for this story. On that note, please enjoy and thank you for all of the reviews and for those of you who added it into your story alert/favorites!

* * *

Professor Flitwick buzzed with exhilaration at the spectacle of his second year Ravenclaws. I soon found out that he was quite an emotional man, able to become cheerful at the slightest bit of good news. He walked among us, a smile holding firm upon his thin lips as he awarded several students for their correct incantations with house points.

I was still unable to grasp the ideal concept of the House Cup. From the cheers of the Ravenclaws and sneers of the Slytherins I was able to determine that it was something well wanted by all houses. The point system awarded towards it, however, seemed quite fraudulent. My assumptions were indeed correct that there was a slight bias edge thrown into the game as each teacher was sure to award their house with the most points per lesson. However, there were some, Professor McGonagall for instance, who believed in strict teaching and shattered all views of a corrupt point system. She felt the need to reward the houses at their bests, which inevitably means losses when they were at their worst.

Regardless, Flitwick's advice of "swish and flicker" could me made out across the room at times, mainly towards the arrogant Slytherins. His words were taken seriously however. The majority of the Ravenclaws, myself included, felt as if the words placed a personal meaning of relentless trying upon each and every one of us. Each time we tried to outshine our own light or at least place someone into the shadows caste, with luck it would be any number of the Slytherins.

The charm of the day was in fact an enlarging one, known better as Engorgio. The moment I heard we would be practicing said charm I felt as if Professor Flitwick was widely overestimating our maturity levels. In a matter of seconds a group of Slytherins found entertainment to not be practicing on the small pumpkins in front of us but on real live targets. Draco indeed fired the first shot towards this battle as he directed his charm towards Mandy's nose. Later, one was fired towards Terry that expanded his left hand towards that of a small melon.

Flitwick's squawks of annoyance were carried away in the sea of charm incantations, never to be met by the ears of his faithful students. This only seemed to worsen the matter. The Ravenclaws retaliated, sending off jets of red from their own charms. It was apparent that the Engorgio charm was no longer the only spell practiced this morning. The classroom became painted with vivid greens and reds as the heat of the battle raged on.

With luck, I managed to spot a few of Draco's belongings scattered out across the floor. "Riverso," I hastily chanted towards his bag as the fabric turned over itself like a restless sea, only stopping to reveal the stitching of its insides. With a final zip of the bag, it was successfully turned inside out while its contents still remained unfazed and inside. I muttered a locking charm that would soon prove its difficulties towards Malfoy. Within my brief time limit, I managed to accomplish this on several other bags. By the end of this small battle, the Slytherins would find it quite hard to replace their bags towards their original state. I returned back to battle, raging with several charms of my own.

In a flurry, Professor Flitwick managed to restore slight order towards the class only to have the bell ring momentarily after. He sat defeated upon his stool and buried his head among the scrolls of parchment he received from a group of fifth years. Gingerly, the Ravenclaws found their way out of the room, glancing over at our Head teacher with sympathetic looks that begged for forgiveness. The Slytherins, on the other hand, managed to make as much noise as humanly possible as they stated their obvious infuriation of not being able to carry, much less open, their bags properly. Many of their papers were scattered across the room or billowing from their hands. Each one looked upon us with murderous intents. I brushed off a small twinge of guilt as I heard Malfoy pronounce a few choosy curses that deducted him house points.

Mac shot me an approving smirk before leaving with a group of boys, still laughing at the sight of the scattered Slytherins. The majority of the Ravenclaw's hands found their way towards my back as each one patted it in an approving, yet undetected manner.

I was halfway towards the safety of the Great Hall with Su, Padma, and Mandy, all bustling with talk among the way, when a series of abrupt foot steps gained my immediate attention. It was funny how life seems to freeze upon you during these times. The faint fluttering sound of my heart seemed to sync itself with every step as the girl's conversation melted into the darkness of the growing void between us.

Glancing back I saw a precursor of bleach blonde hair that placed a sinking suspicion uneasily upon the bottom of my stomach. I nodded towards the girls' bewildered gazes, signaling for their disappearance. Reluctantly, they returned towards their bits of gossip in hushed whispers as they approached the Great Hall, lingering upon the entrance of it to see if they could catch a glimpse of the following conversation.

Draco Malfoy presented himself in front of me in a dignified matter. However, the smirk upon his lips revealed his thoughts of supremacy. "We were never properly introduced." His gaze fell upon the small crest bearing the name of my house before his dry voice rang through out the halls. "Surly someone in Ravenclaw would have enough sense to not be caught dead hanging out with Potter and his blood traitor friends." He laced the words Potter with as much venom as he could while still appearing light and airy upon the banter.

"I prefer to live on the edge," I replied sourly through clenched teeth. I could not stop my mind from wandering rudely upon the subject of time and how long it would take Malfoy to leave. I was still not in the forgiving mood and could only hope that it appeared through out my astringent words.

"Yes," he agreed idly upon the matter as if he were deciding between two breakfast cereals, "I suppose so." His gaze fell heavy upon my attire, searching for something to mock and ridicule that would immediately place him rightfully back in control. Finding nothing upon my freshly ironed uniform and tidy bag, he was brought back towards our dull conversation. "I am Draco Malfoy, but I presume you already know that." His pale hand reached forth, asking for connection with mine as an arrogant smirk appeared hanging above his pointed chin. He coated his words in an overpowering smugness that I found contemptuous. "I never caught your name." He spoke languorously as if the matter never really interested him and he was simply following orders of his beloved father.

"Abigail Williams," I stated in a fake sweetness that made my stomach churn as I grasped his hand for a stiff shake. "Happily muggle-born," I added on a lighter note as I became transfixed by the sudden shift in Malfoy's expression. He became rigid at once as his shoulders broadened. His entire body seemed to pause upon that note as he looked down upon his hand in abhorrence. Yanking it free from my diseased ridden grasp his tone hardened, no longer needing to be laced in a fake interest if he was addressing a mudblood.

As the amusement from his shock attire faded, my eyes fell upon something else. "Shame about your bag," I noted in a triumphant smirk of my own. Briskly, I walked away, leaving him to stare in bewilderment upon the freshly painted target across my back. This was sure to not be the end of our feud but to merely mark the start of it.

Upon my departure I could distinctly make out his words of Mudblood and how this God forsaken school was full of them. My victorious smirk never faltered as I met up with Su once more.

Discussing my ill behavior seemed to become the priority on her agenda for the evening. "Are you barking mad?" She asked incredulously, unable to believe I would say such things to the all powerful Draco Malfoy. "Or do you just have a death sentence?"

"Honestly Abby," Padma chimed in on a more scholarly approach as she informed me of my wrong doing, "his father could have you expelled. He is one of the governors after all."

"The Malfoys aren't ones to tolerate muggle-borns. They even pick on half-bloods when they cross their path," Mandy chimed in with a small voice before returning towards her reading.

I dismissed the topic with a roll of my cobalt eyes. "He can threaten me all he wants. Besides, he's only talk." With a group sigh they decided to postpone their pestering towards a more suitable time.

As our small break lagged on, my gaze fell upon the golden trio. I tried to cover my mouth in a desperate attempt to stop the laughter that was sure to follow as I noted their grungy appearances. Each one seemed to have clumps of dirt stained across their robes and scattered through out their hair. They carried looks of exhaustion as they plumped down upon their seats.

"You guys look dreadful," I commented, unable to prevent the chuckle in my voice as I sat beside them.

"Ha ha very funny," Harry muttered through his goblet. "You just wait till you have Herbology."

"I hate Mandrakes," Ron felt the need to mutter as he bitterly picked up his goblet, wishing that the cool water would refresh his aching body.

"It wasn't all bad," Hermione informed me on a lighter note as she smiled with a faint curl of her upper lip upon the memory of the class. Naturally she had the least amount of dirt upon her. "They're actually kind of cute."

"Yeah, if you're blind," Ron scoffed between sips. Harry and I passed each other quick smirks, both biting our bottom lip to silence our laughter. As a light shade of green danced upon the outsides of his irises from amusement, mine withheld tears for I always found them to accompany my hilarity.

Looking upon the other end of the spectrum, Hermione glowered into her pumpkin juice as she bitterly drank between pursed lips. Her limbs became stiff with humility causing her to move faster than normal, almost as if she were trying not to disturb the universe by taking a bagel.

An awkward moment of silence settled in a thin layer upon the group until Ron saved our poor souls with a question. "What class do we have next?" It was a simple question never the less but do not let its simplicity fool you. It was secretly a life preserver, destined to catch a hold back on to the previous thriving conversation.

"Transfigurations," Hermione muttered as she shot him look that told him to memorize his own schedule. She seemed to ease slightly back towards the flow of the conversation, offering commentary here and there until it was time to leave.

The two houses fused together forming a sea of blue and bronze with flickers of red and gold. As a result, I was free to talk towards the golden trio along with my fellow Ravenclaws. They still seemed quite enthused about our fashionable arrival and either congratulated them or begged for the story to be told once more. Ron always seemed to shine away from the truth, making each one more far fetched than the last. This time it seemed that he won the flying car after a grave duel with a genie. Harry and I stifled our laughter from the thought of Ron trying to duel. After all, he was the one who snapped his wand from trying to stop this magical flying car. Hermione seemed thoroughly uninterested and proved so by quickening her pace.

Transfiguration proved to be a pointless class in my mind. Perhaps it was because I saw no potential use in transforming beetles into buttons. It could be useful for those calamitous emergencies when you're in dire need of a button and there is only a beetle scurrying around. However, I found my twelve years to never present me with such a problem. I guess I would be well prepared for the future seeing as I was at top level with Miss Granger and her beetles-to-buttons way.

Of course in every class if there are those who succeed then there are those who fail. Harry and Ron seemed to be having a particularly rueful time in transforming their beetles. Harry only seemed successful in allowing his beetle a free range of exercise as he chased it around his desk vigorously with his wand. Although poor, it was not as bad as Ron's attempt, who should be credited with the name exterminator. It seemed that no beetle was safe for whenever he tried to cast the spell a thick purple fog engulfed it where he would end up accidentally putting a stopper on its life, compliments of the impact from his elbow. Mrs. McGonagall did not seem too pleased by Ron's attempts and in the end dismissed him from the practice blaming it on the poor condition of his wand. He never appeared happier when the lunch bell rang.

In a scurry similar toward the beetles, the class filed out of the room in hopes to find a suitable seating arrangement for lunch. However, Harry and Ron lingered in the room, discussing the state of Ron's broken wand. It was far beyond repair and he would have to write home for a new one but that nagging voice in the back of his head known as pride convinced him other wise. It would be a cool day in the devil's home before he admitted that to his parents, trying his best to avoid another howler. The things were quite dreadful really and I was extremely relieved when my parents sent a normal muggle letter, free from any sort of magical tantrum.

Lunch passed by quickly as I ate with my fellow Ravenclaws. All seemed to be deeply conversed in a similar book, _Voyage with Vampires_. It only took a brief moment before I became sick of looking at the elaborate cover that I decided to catch my breath out side. It was my first time exploring the grounds on my own and it was quite invigorating. The grass was still scorched in various parts from its battle with the summer heat. Regardless, everything seemed to be thriving. The Whomping Willow, with its splinted limbs and bandaged covered trunk, even seemed to be standing taller in the fresh autumn air. It felt as if I left all my cares back at the castle's entrance; that is until I saw one rather arrogant Malfoy making his way towards the golden trio with his thugs standing secularly next to him. To my demise, each one had their bags turned properly outside. I was hoping for a more time lasting effect but I will take what I am given.

Harry, rather annoyed at a small squirrelly boy holding a camera that looked to be half his weight, was too engrossed in his conversation to notice the approaching Slytherins.

"Heads up," I warned, nodding off towards the haughty Malfoy. Harry's look, if possible, fell into a worsen state than before. The squirrelly boy, better known as Colin Creevey, shrank behind Harry, his protector.

"_Signed photos? _You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?" His annunciations were shallow yet bitter, as if he did not have the time to waste to pronounce his words properly. He was sure they were heard as his voice rang through out the courtyard, ceasing hold of the attention of a few passer biers. Even Hermione seemed fazed enough to peer over the cover her book, yet another _Voyage with Vampires_. His two henchmen, Crabbe and Goyle, seemed to be ready to take one anything but an IQ test.

Malfoy continued in a mock excitement as he roared to the crowd, "Everyone line up! Potter's giving out signed photos!"

Harry was not much of a trash talker as he denied Malfoy's statement and threw in a "shut up" with a clenched jaw and fists.

It was Colin who piped up and threw Malfoy back to his place. "You're just jealous." _Here, here. _He cowered back under Harry as he took a quick survey of Crabbe's exposed forearms. His analysis was that he was about as thick as his neck and therefore should value his life by holding his tongue.

"_Jealous_?" Malfoy asked incredulously as if the mere thought was ludicrous enough that it should be humored. There was no longer any need for him to shout as he already gained the entire courtyard's attention. "Of what?" He pressed on towards the cowering Colin, summoning more of his ridiculous sentiments. It seemed that he was in a mood to laugh as his gaze darted back towards Harry derisively. "I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself." Pressing forth with the stupid sniggers from Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy sneered towards the cluster of Gryffindors.

Ron with his short fuse that just became lighted, stepped out and confronted their Slytherin nemesis. "Eat slugs!" His face was scrunched into an undeniable rage but became less threatening the moment he brandished his Spellotaped wand. The extremely massive wade that held the fragments of his wand together were undeniably noticeable and resulted in the immediate laughter of the taunting Malfoy.

"Careful Weasley," Malfoy sneered with the help of his faithful companions who rubbed their knuckles in a looming way. "You don't want to start any trouble or your Mommy will have to take you away from school." The tone that followed was a shrill, pierce of the crisp autumn air. "'_If you put another toe out of line' –"_

A knot of passing Slytherins laughed upon the insult as they looked in with amusement. I felt the unprecedented urge to hex them all into next year but suddenly denied it once I spotted a flash of pearly whites.

"Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter." The way he pronounced Harry's name made even my blood boil as the rage lapped upon the surface of my skin, stinging every cell in existence. I could no longer deny it and apparently neither could Ron. His glare was giving Malfoy a run for his money, creating him to speak more jests in order to cut him down a few notches. "It'd be worth more than his family's whole house –"

Ron bellowed out a low and menacing growl. From the bewildered glances of Harry and Hermione I could tell that this was not his usual means of confrontation. It must have just been added to the list. Brandishing his wand once more, he was prepared to hex Malfoy's face until it fell off from exhaustion. However, he was never given that chance seeing as Hermione gripped his shoulder tightly as she whispered words of caution.

"What's all this? What's all this?"

* * *

Harry groaned inwardly towards that chuckle in the voice. He knew that voice, no matter how hard he tried to forget.

Gilderoy Lockhart with his award winning smile plastered on his face in a cheesy grin beamed down towards his pupils. As always, he was completely incompetent and hadn't the faintest clue towards the fight he just prevented. This did little to prevent him from billowing out his elaborate turquoise robes in hopes of admiration by his adoring fans. His wish was granted as Hermione's knees buckled underneath her wobbling legs causing her to swoon from on top of a bench.

"Who's giving out signed photos?"

In a blinding ray of hope Harry shrank back, trying to avoid his scanning glance. This proved to not be his lucky day as Lockhart smiled down upon him. "I should have known," he thundered cordially as his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulder, soon proving to be more of a barrier. He was unaware towards the extent of his face but by judging by the snickers of the Slytherins he could tell that it was horribly off color. His face felt as if it was on fire and the only thought pinned towards his humiliated mind was that of disappearance.

Lockhart beamed down towards the small boy, probably because he was the only one holding a camera. He urged the boy to take the picture and promised a signature from both of them. Upon that note, Harry flat out refused to stay still as he struggled against Lockhart's peculiarly strong grasp.

Everyone scurried off towards class the moment the bell sounded. Each one was laughing towards the turn of events. Much to Harry's demise he was pulled back towards Lockhart who successively babbled on about fame and when it was proper to hand out signed photography. Once again he was immune towards Harry's brief stammers of explanation. It seemed that when Lockhart had an idea in that empty space of a head of his, it was free to grow until it took up the entire space.

Once free of Lockhart's grasp, Harry immediately began to place distance between the two of them. He sat in the back as he fumbled over the tidiness of his robes. Once done, he began to stack Lockhart's collected work upon the desk in hopes that they will shield him of the real thing.

With a chuckle Abigail placed her works next to his creating a stronger barrier. "I don't like him either," she said particularly loud but Lockhart did not seem to notice. He was far too busy straining his ears to hear compliments. So it was natural that he merely over looked the thousands of insults that headed his way. Her nose was crinkled as if she had smelled something revolting and with one guess Harry knew who she was referring to. He sighed in relief, thankful that there was one girl who was rational enough to own a shred of common sense.

"Don't let him hear you say that," Harry warned with a chuckle. "I don't know how he will react towards criticism."

"I don't think anything can crush that ego of his." The two passed whispered words of laughter until Ron and Hermione entered.

"You could've fried an egg on your face," Ron's voice was laced in laughter as he recalled the incident. "You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club."

Harry merely rolled his eyes towards the chuckles of his friends as he tossed a nonchalant 'shut up' towards Ron. He did not particularly want Lockhart to linger over the words of fan club and thought it best to drop the subject all together.

Lockhart strode across the classroom, every eye upon him glancing intently as he loved every second of it. He stopped to hover over a timid Neville to pick up one of his books, his fingers carefully clasped on the edge of the cover as to better reveal his portrait. It winked down upon the class as he revealed another one of his award winning smiles.

"Me," a chuckle held high upon his voice as if noble, "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's _Most-Charming-Smile Award – but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!" He chuckled along with some of the girl's high pitched laughter. Harry noticed Abigail's hand tightly clasped towards her mouth in a desperate attempt to prevent her laughter towards the conceited man in front of them. "But I presume that you all know that. As a means of checking, I have prepared a small quiz. Nothing to worry about," he reassured the class after several moans were present. "It's just to see how much you have taken in from your reading."

"I can go ahead and answer that now," Abigail whispered, a scoff present in her tone. "Nothing." Hermione seemed to stiffen upon the insult as the boys tried their best to cover their snickers.

"_Small_?" Ron repeated incredulously as he stared upon the stack of parchment that was indeed identified as the quiz. It was more of a small tree really.

Everyone glanced down upon their stack, each one being met with questions strictly about Lockhart. Some, such as Abigail, took it upon themselves to point how absurd the quiz was by answering with witty responses. For the first question asking what his favorite color was she replied with tickle me pink. Upon asked about said answer she replied directly towards his face, "Sorry professor but you strike me as a pink kind of guy." She continued to respond with her witty answers, despite the countless glares she received from several of the girls.

* * *

What seemed like hours, Lockhart gathered the rolls of parchment and leafed through each one carefully. I restrained my laughter as his face fell from what I could only guess was from staring at my answers. Harry and Ron also seemed to be having similar difficulties as they shock with silent laughter.

Hermione, as per usual, received top marks and thus earned Gryffindor ten points. A heavy sigh was heard from her before she rested her head in her palms and stared up at Lockhart dreamily. Surprisingly enough, the majority of the girls seemed to have this flattered disposition. Even Mandy was twirling a lock of her ginger hair playfully with the tip of her index finger.

"And now to business," Lockhart announced, his voice echoing through out the room. A silence fell as he lifted a covered cage upon his desk.

"Now," a surprisingly serious tone replaced Lockhart's general jovial one, "be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourself facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here." I half expected him to wink towards the cowering Neville in his front seat but instead he only offered the simple words of, "All I ask is that you remain calm."

Everyone felt an underlying tug upon their curiosity as we all inched forth in our hard wooden seats. I even felt my own curiosity rising as I craned my view around the stack of books. Some shivered in a cold sweat towards the possibilities of what could be under the cover. Those in the front took no chances as they slowly inched themselves back as far as their seats would allow them.

Lockhart's gaze wondered across the class as he determined if we could handle such terror. Anxiety wrapped itself across our chests as it tightened with every second. Some held their breath, afraid it would be their last.

"I must ask you not to scream," his voice was clam and soothing but with a ringing anticipation that rose higher like the tides, "it might provoke them!" His shouts were heard clearly from the back as now everyone held their breath only to release it in a fit of laughter as he revealed several creatures that were no taller than a few inches. They were hardly anyone's worst fear. The only terrible thing that came from them was their intolerable chatter that was more shrills than anything. They rapped against the bars of their prison the moment the cover disappeared.

"Yes," Lockhart swooned dramatically towards what he mistook for screams of terror. "_Freshly caught Cornish pixies_."

Several snorts of laughter were heard, scattered across the room as the tension evaporated. One in particular was louder than the rest as it came from Seamus Finnigan. Even Lockhart could not deny that it indeed was a snort of laughter and not a shriek.

"Don't be so quick to judge!" spoke Lockhart in a tone that suggested he knew more than he led on. I did not particularly like that tone. From him it could mean a class full of misery. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

Provoked and pressed into a corner from the fits of laughter, something snapped within Lockhart's mind. It was clear that he needed to restore order and there was only one way to do so. "Right, then," Lockhart called out above the talk of the class. "Let's see what you make of them!" He released the pixies from their imprisonment. In a split second they were causing pandemonium across the room.

I despise being right sometimes.

"Round them up. Round them up. They're only pixies." Lockhart's jests were barley audible over the crinkling sound of glass shattering as several pixies began to throw books out the windows.

A disgruntled Neville kicked wildly in the air as a group of pixies dragged him up by his ears. Finding a suitable place, they hung him from the chandelier as he continued his impatient gestures of wanting to be let go.

Feeling that the class had had enough, Lockhart carefully rolled his sleeves up in order to not wrinkle the expensive fabric. Brandishing his wand he bellowed out "_Peskipiksi Pesternomi_" in a sing song fashion as he waved his wand similar towards a conductor.

Nothing happened. The pixies were still roaming through out the room like barbarians in the fall of Rome. One was bold enough to snatch his wand from his very grasp. He suddenly became intrigued by the wood work in his own desk as he dove underneath it.

There was a flash of house colors as the majority of the class left in a blind hurry. The ever so gracious Lockhart assigned the four of us, me along with the golden trio, to recapture the pixies. He then flocked towards his room after he fought over one of his many portraits with a group of pixies.

We proceeded to capture the pixies by any means necessary. Generally it meant swatting at them with books as if they were a flock of annoying flies and not electric blue miniaturized demons.

"Can you _believe _him?" roared Ron as he hit one of the pixies who just left a painful bite mark across the top of his reddened ear.

"He just wants to give us some hands-on experience," Hermione defended as she froze several nearby pixies with an immobilizing charm. I felt the need to scoff at her words but held back as she seemed severally put off from all of the words of discouragement.

"_Hands on_?" Harry repeated, disbelieving his own ears. "He didn't have a _clue_ what he was doing!"

"I've had just about enough of this," I muttered, tired from trying to grasp a pixie who kept sending rude gestures towards me. I revealed my wand with what I could guess was a relentless look of infuriation. "Congelo!"

Time itself seemed to slow down as the wings of the pixies dawdled until they seemed as if they would never move again. Suspended in mid air, looks of confusion spread across each one. With a tilt of my wand, they were back into the cage with the door safely latched. Their incoherent chatter rang forth as they buzzed through out the small container, annoyed at the trick that was just played upon him.

I placed my wand happily back into the safe confinement of my robes before looking up to met bewildered glances.

"_Brilliant_," Ron muttered as he glanced back over the caged pixies, a smug look of triumph overcoming his features.

"I've never seen that spell before," Hermione muttered in confusion as she repaired several of the windows.

I pointed down towards my small house crest that seeped through the slivers of my hair. "Ravenclaw, remember?"

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**A/N**: (Yes again, I am sorry) It occurred to me that while I was editing this chapter, it did not put the bars and extra spaces in like I thought it would. I believe this happened to all of the chapters and I am sorry for the confusion. I'm currently going back and fixing the chapters in order to make it less confusing. I am terribly sorry and I will try to do a better job of editing next time.

P.S. Please feel free to message me or put in a review if you have any more confusion or criticism. Although, I would like it if you guys would occasionally tell me if you like the story but I'll take what I can get. Thanks again!


	6. Word of the Day

**Something Like the Truth **

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely **

**Chapter Six: Word of the Day**

**Author's Note**: So sorry for the long wait but I have this one out now! I particularly liked the ending to this one and I hope you will too. Please forgive me for any misspelled words; my Harry Potter terminology is a bit rusty. Thanks to all who left a comment and added this story. Please enjoy!

* * *

Days slowly transformed into weeks and not so much as an occasionally test threatened our merry existence. Ron's wand continued to malfunction during the duration of this time, providing something amusing to discuss in hushed whispers. No one dared ventured too close towards the red head in fear that his wand's next victim just may be them.

Autumn had settled in comfortably over the grounds, setting a blazing fire of color upon the leaves. The air was thin, crisp, and seemed to clinch tightly around your skin, producing a series of chills through out the vertebra. It was perfect for Quidditch.

At first I did not know what to think of the outlandish game. It was bizarre and eccentric, but exactly the right thing to accompany this school. I soon found myself thinking of nothing but it. It reminded me so fondly of the old football games my parents used to take me to. Absolutely freezing, but our warm spirits greatly improved the atmosphere. Here, it was no different. We woke early to flock towards the stands and cheer on our favorite players, even if it was only practice.

Every weekend I found myself awake early in the morning to be sitting in the stands, accompanied by Hermione and Ron. Lips chapped and cheeks rosy from the bitter twinge of the frosty air, we watched on in awe as the Gryffindor team dove through out the air. It was magnificent to watch, a true rare honor that could only be described as the simple things in life. Scarlet blurs fanned out around the grounds, each one swooping down low and taking a certain stance.

It was exciting and new, similar towards a breath of fresh autumn air.

Hours seemed to drift by merrily as I looked on at the progressing team. Excitement bubbling forth, I soon found it hard to sit confined in the stands. From the sour pain my face excreted I could tell that I was smiling all the while in the stands, slightly in fear of it being frozen on.

I soon found out the hard way that five minutes in the bitter cold could change a person. This theory was rested when glancing back at Hermione and Ron bickering and failing greatly to share my level of enthusiasm. Ron was currently warming his hands by the thermos I charmed to heat our hot chocolate which was considered wrong in the eyes of Hermione Granger. Her ever lasting nags flocked through his ears about hogging the coco. It was such a warm sight that it brought me back towards simpler times, before magic and mayhem, as well as presenting the bitter wind of autumn another chance to freeze the smile upon my lips. Despite questioning their level of friendship at the moment, I knew they were true friends, destined to laugh about this later. It reminded me of simpler times, before magic and mayhem.

A longing pushed forth from its cage, whishing to fill every cell with memories of an almost forgotten past. A moments worth of silence was sacrificed but I was able to press it back to its confinement, yet hints of the past remained. It surfaced, reopening several scars to bleed fresh into the morning air. Some were forgotten instantly but others, others I could not be so lucky with. It took me seven years to forget and now it would take seven more.

After several more minutes of patiently waiting, Ron had had enough. "Aren't you done yet?" he called impatiently towards a scarlet blur with wire glasses and a mess of black hair. "It's been ages out here." He suppressed a shiver as Hermione wrenched the thermos from his barren hands to pour a hardy cup of hot chocolate.

"No," Harry called back towards us. His voice was strained with exhaustion and bitterness as he presented himself in front of us. "Wood's been passing out hours of new drills and tactics." His gaze fell longingly over the assortment of food we gathered.

Noticing Harry's eyes lingering upon a particular banana nut muffin, I pressed it further towards him. Bewilderment stretched out across his thin features only to be washed away with embarrassment. It seemed that his hunger had taken hold.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, gaze falling back upon the inviting article of food.

A smile tugged upon the very corners of my mouth as I placed it in the center of his palm. "I'm sure. You must be starving by now." A moments worth of pondering silence as Harry spent carefully pealing back the wrapper passed when I spoke again on a lighter note. "Besides, I can always go back towards the kitchens to get another."

"You know where the kitchens are?" Ron asked incredulously, unable to hold back the hunger in his soft brown eyes. "But no one knows where the kitchens are!"

"I think your brothers would disagree." I took a long and inviting sip from my hot chocolate before continuing, "I overheard them whispering about it one day."

"I can't believe those prates!" The soft features in Ron's eyes quickly hardened upon the mention of his twin brothers, Fred and George. "They never tell me anything and I am their brother for crying out loud!" The rest of the time he spent mumbling about them with a disdainful tone. He sent several rigid glares towards them as well through out the continuation of their practice. This only resulted in several Bludgers thrown his way followed by cackles of laughter from the twins.

Through five minute intervals I noticed a particular pair of eyes pressed upon mine, harsh and calculating. I hated to admit it but I suppressed a shiver every time I noticed them.

"What's his problem?" I asked, nodding off towards the keeper.

"He thinks you're a Slytherin spy." Ron spoke bluntly, as if it were the most common thing in the world to be accused of as a spy. It must be some British trend I'm not familiar with.

"But I'm in Ravenclaw." I protested defensively, questioning the man's sanity all the while wondering how many times he must have been hit in the head by a stray Bludger. Surly that must have something to do with it.

It was Hermione who restored order and brought clarity towards the matter. "It makes no difference towards Wood. He has a deep paranoia that everyone's trying to steal his plays."

So in other words, he is insane.

"Bit of a nutter really," Ron admitted, looking out over the field towards Wood who happened to still be looking upon us in a condescension fashion. "But he makes some brilliant plays."

"I don't think he can accuse you anymore though," Hermione chimed, instantly gaining our attention. Her gaze followed down from her left hand, pointing towards the field where a group of green rested. "They're already here."

"Better check it out," Ron muttered, following his defensive instincts towards the field. If the Slytherins were in, then no good could possibly come out of it.

It seems that we were not the only ones who had noticed the repugnant presence of the group of Slytherins for the majority of the Gryffindor team scurried down to protest their arrival. Oliver Wood, for one, did not seem too pleased with their presence. His face held a look of discomfort, almost as if a peculiarly sour lemon was placed upon his tongue. Muttering was made out from the clacking of his tongue towards the roof of his now dry mouth. "I don't believe this," he repeated it several times, allowing the very words to turn inside his own mind.

"Flint!" Oliver bellowed towards a particular large broke who seemed to have a permanent scowl attached to his smug, angular face. His upper lip pulled pack in a lopsided smirk, revealing the atrocity of his teeth. They only seemed to add towards his vile demeanor. "This is our practice time. I booked the pitch for Gryffindor a month ago!" Oliver's eyes traveled across the snarls from the Slytherins, each one standing shoulder to shoulder similar towards a military line up.

"Relax Wood, don't get your knickers in a twist," he taunted in a gruff voice that reminded me of the sound a knife made scratching across the crisp surface of a burnt piece of toast. It was a horrid sound that was slightly more acceptable towards the sound of nails on a chalkboard. "I've got a note from Professor Snape saying the pitch is ours for the day."

A bitter rage washed over the Gryffindor team at the mention of their dreaded potions teacher. He wasn't a very doting man for any of the Gryffindors, especially Harry. He always seemed to have an unprecedented grudge against him that always made their encounters less than enjoyable.

Oliver snatched the piece of parchment away from Flint in disbelief. He read it allowed, pausing over the mention of a new seeker. "You have a new seeker?" His rage subsided, leaving room for calculations to be made. It was easy to tell that he was already forming new plans of attack for his team.

The Slytherins parted in the center to reveal their secret weapon, one smirking Malfoy. His bleach blonde hair was slicked tightly back, highlighting the intensity of the sharp angels towards his face. He was enjoying the shocked glances that dispersed through out the opposition, but none of which truly mattered to him. His eyes were fixed upon Harry as a broad smirk widened across the thinness of his lips. This was now made into a personal matter.

I scoffed over his presence which earned me several rude glares from the Slytherin team.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" Fred was the one who asked, not sparing a moment's worth of repugnant glares towards the boy.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father." Flint's snarl broadened into a smirk, as well as the majority of the other Slytherins. It was easy to tell that we were not going to like the outcome of the following conversation. My assumptions remained correct as they embellished heavily polished brooms. It was sleek and it shined with that new broom finishing. Trimmed gold lettering looped its way across the midnight handle and supported the twinge of yellow at the bottom of the broom's bristles. _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ gleamed in the fresh morning light.

The Slytherins continued to boast about the "charitable donation" to their team, comparing them to an assortment of other brooms, which coincidently were owned by the Gryffindors. It was present from their triumphant smirks that they were able to out fly any broom at the blink of an eye. Our snide remarks were hindered towards several rolls of the eyes as their jests grew, declaring the age of several of the more older models the Weasley's had.

It was Hermione who decided to level the playing field as she replied in a sharp tongue, "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent."

A flicker of annoyance faulted Malfoy's smirk but our snide comebacks were far from over, or at least mine weren't.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about Oliver." I added, leaning over to the fuming Quidditch captain. "All the time in the world won't prepare him against Harry." This was enough to regain the spirit of the team as they smirked down upon the raging boy, remembering their secret weapon.

"No one asked for your opinions," he spat towards Hermione and me before adding with a scowl, "you filthy little Mudbloods."

Hermione and I knew in an instant that Malfoy had gravely crossed a line as Fred and George fought their way towards him. They threatened to break his new toy broom and send him crying back towards his father as Flint stood towards his full six foot two height, blocking out Malfoy from view. Several gasps were heard from the trio of the Gryffindor's chasers as the eldest shrieked out "_How dare you_!"

The Slytherins fits of laughter never ceased, even when Ron's hand plummeted deep into the pockets of his robes to reveal his wand. Hermione and I exchanged nervous glances towards one another, not sure if offensive would be the proper emotion for this situation.

"You'll pay for that one Malfoy!" Ron roared before a spark erupted from his wand. All would have been well except for the tiny little detail that it shot from the wrong end. The sound of fire echoed through out the stadium as a green enchantment engulfed Ron, stomach first. The effect of the blast sent him back into the air until he landed hard upon his back in a grassy patch of field.

The Slytherin team bellowed out several howls of laughter as we hastily ran over towards the slumped over Ron. Draco seemed to be enjoying the incident the most as he beat the ground repetitively with his fist, occasionally wiping away a few stay tears of enjoyment.

"Ron! Ron!" Hermione flocked over him, helping to lift him up towards his knees. "Are you all right?"

He looked up at her incredulously, preparing his mouth to reply something sarcastic but the words never came. Instead, a glistening green slug replaced his comment. It dribbled down his mouth until it landed upon his lap, squirming about trying to find appease from the ground. A verdant tint dispersed across his pale face, giving the impression that the slug fest was far from over.

My hand gripped tightly across my wand, knuckles white with murderous intent. Rage painted the scene a crimson red as the gurgling sounds of Ron faded away, overshadowed by the growing laughter of the Slytherins. Hexes flooded my mind, each one promising something new and worth wile as I pictured performing various ones on Malfoy and his band of ghouls. In seconds, my breathing maintained and all thoughts of torture subsided. My wand was still gripped securely in my grasp, a reminder of what could be. Looking down upon the belching Ron, I realized there would be time for revenge later.

"What should we do?" The question was directed to anyone with a hint of leadership. The emotional range of the Gryffindors was limited towards two options, repulsion with a hint of nausea or worry with a side of sympathy.

"We should take him to Hagrid's," Harry concluded as he helped his friend to his feet. "He's the closest." I hadn't the faintest clue as to who or what this Hagrid was, but if he could help then there will be no complaints from me.

A blinding white flash followed by a familiar sound of clicking prolonged our departure as we stumbled back from lack of sight. "Can you turn him around, Harry?" Collin held his camera high towards his face, barley covering the grand gap the grin of his mouth formed.

Harry was in no mood for a photo shoot today and gently pushed his way past the bubbly boy. "Get out the way, Collin!" This did little to falter the boy's exhilaration as flash after flash went off. It took little effort to tell that this was his first time at Hogwarts as well.

We followed a winding path that stretched its way across the grounds before abruptly stopping at the edge of a dark forest. It was the same forest the enchanted car rode off through. Thoughts of suspicion flooded my mind as I watched the trio suppress chills as we walked along its edge. A small cabin with a roof made from stay bundles of hay cam into view. Despite its size, it looked rather inviting and cozy. There were a small patch of pumpkins that wrapped itself across the right side of the home. A welcome mat lay frayed and worn out across the stoop. Fresh prints of mud could be seen distinctly, even from a few feet away. Whoever he was, he was home and looked to already have a visitor.

Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the oddly large door frame, supporting the faintest color of mauve robes for the day. His generally eager face seemed duller than usual and it was odd to look upon him and not see a smile.

A sharp tug upon the left sleeve of my robe sent me into a nearby bush. I looked back at Harry to glare upon him but was met with a look of apology. It seems that Lockhart was the last person he wanted to run into with a hexed Ron and I for one did not blame him. The man was sure to want to "help" Ron and we were unaware of what dire consequences that might cause. There was always the chance that Ron could be transformed into a slug, belching out miniaturized versions of himself.

Raised voices for an argument could be heard across the field as Lockhart turned back to scold Hagrid, or who I presume to be him. "It's a simple matter if you know what you are doing!" The man's generally tidy hair fell in messy clumps around his face as he continuously ran his hands through it, a clear sign of frustration. He continued to rant on about some trivial matter and somehow manage to tie the conversation back towards his book. To be honest, I was not paying that much attention. I was too engrossed by the half giant to take into consideration whatever the fuming Lockhart was recommending. Hagrid was a tall, bulky man with frizzed out hair that was loosing the once rich black color it possessed. It framed his face heavily, stopping only inches away from the point of his beard. His eyes were small and set heavily upon his purple rings of exhaustion and age. They were merely inches away from the bridge of his nose but their gleam was not lost.

After the disappearance of Lockhart, Harry hastily dragged Ron towards Hagrid's hut, impatiently rapping upon his door. This was our, Hermione and I, cue to follow. Within the moment, Hagrid appeared in the door frame, barely able to squeeze himself in it. His face was soured but soon smoothed out into a kind smile upon realization that it was only Harry. They greeted each other fondly, as if they were long lost friends reunited after a period of five years.

Hagrid welcomed us into his home, stating that "any frien' of 'Arry's is a frien' o' mine." His hut was an enchanted room with a tall ceiling, supporting an assortment of cages dangling from it. Regardless of walls, the room was divided into three separate areas: a kitchen, bedroom, and living room. A large bed sat tucked away in the far off corner next to several chairs and a couch. There was a frumpy basket with a blanket sprawled across where a hound laid watching with one eye barley open. He stood to slobber over Harry who scratched him delightfully behind the ears.

We quickly explained the predicament, leaving out a few minor details, as we slumped Ron into a nearby chair. Hagrid placed a large wooden bucket with iron rims in front of him, calling it his "specialis' equipment."

"Better out than in," he added as Ron hugged the bucket. His head ducked down as several more slugs spewed from his mouth. It defiantly wasn't his crowning moment as he wiped a bit of slime from the corner of his mouth. It seemed the only thing to do was to wait for it to stop.

Between the flow of slugs, Harry stroke up a conversation with Hagrid about Lockhart's presence. From the bits that I gathered it seemed that Hagrid wasn't too thrilled about his teaching career either. Hermione made her disagreement present, referring back to his "classical" works of literature and bravery.

I placed a reassuring hand upon Ron's shoulder as his head disappeared within the bucket. Smiling gently towards him, I offered him a Kleenex which he took gratefully. It proved to be better than the corners of his sleeves.

A few more minutes slowly tugged by before Ron's case lightened slightly. The slugs were now making their appearance in waves instead of one continuous flow. By the grotesque looks he was giving each one, I could tell he was far from enjoying himself.

"So tell me," Hagrid spoke a moment later, curiosity shinning in his deep seated eyes. "Who was he tryin' ter curse?" He jerked his head towards Ron but there was no need, we all knew who he was referring to.

"Malfoy," Harry replied bitterly upon recognition of the day's event. "He called Hermione and Abby," he paused upon the term before continuing in confusion, "well I don't really know exactly what it means. It must have been really bad" he added quickly at the sight of Ron's grim face, "because everyone went wild."

"It _was_ bad," Ron said in a hoarse whisper before excusing himself as he ducked down again towards the bucket. Reluctantly, he pulled his head back up to continue his explanation. "Malfoy called them 'Mudbloods.'" Blotched with bits of purple, Ron's face appeared from the bucket only momentarily before hiccupping several more slugs. It clashed greatly with the fire red of his hair. It too seemed to be paling by the moment.

A loud gasp shock the room as Hagrid growled, "He didn'!" Fang retreated under the bed from the excess noise, leaving Harry to dispose of his saliva.

"He did," Hermione assured as she abruptly stood to walk towards another corner, arms folded across her chest. "To be honest," she started timidly, "I don't know what it means." By the sympathetic glances of the boys she pressed on in confidence, "But I could tell it was rude, especially if it came from Malfoy's mouth."

I sighed lightly upon the subject, not sure entirely of the context of the word. I could only guess what it truly meant, and none of my guesses were nice ones.

As Ron explained the term with comments from Hagrid whenever he had to pause to free a slug, I felt the anger build upon the room as well as in myself. I silently contained it but was unsure for how long it would last. No wonder he was such an ignoramus. A genetic disorder from intermarriage is a sufficient explanation. Dirty blood! What rubbish! I'll show _him_ dirty blood!

Feeling the overwhelming twinge of hunger, Harry excused us towards the Great Hall. Hagrid happily offered several pieces of treacle fudge which he declined gently. After taking one myself I could see why. It was caramel in substance but acted more as cement. My teeth remained stuck towards one another for the remainder of the visit until Harry showed me a trick towards wrenching them apart.

One foot barley in the entrance towards Hogwarts and we were greeted with the shrill voice of McGonagall. "There you are," her voice echoed through out the narrow hall, sure to grab the attention of anyone present. "You three will be serving your detentions tonight."

We nodded absent mindedly towards her announcement, our minds stretching further away from the conversation as we wondered what sort of punishment would be inflicted upon us. Fred and George, someone with more experience in this department than I, almost had me believing in the thought of battling against a Troll they kept locked in the dungeons.

The unmistakably frail sound of laughter could be heard faintly from a distance away. Further down the hall stood Draco and several other Slytherins, all laughing upon our misfortune. At one point Draco gained the attention of Ron only to gag in front of him, a new jest that was sure to become persistent over the week.

Upon my glare he offered one of his own as he mouthed out something. Mudblood just so happened to be the word of the day.

Refusing to defer my glare, I informed Professor McGonagall about my actions I would be further taking. "I'm sorry Professor but you are going to have to give me another detention." I could feel her confused glance, as well as those from the golden trio, upon my back but offered no explanation in turn. I was sure that a demonstration would be more appropriate as my hand clasped over the smooth cherry wood of my wand.

"What in heavens are you – "

"Stupefy!" My cry drowned out her frill question as I looked upon the unfolding scene before me with a triumphant smirk.

A stream of violent red collided into the smug features of one Draco Malfoy, bestowing a slight pinch of age upon him as it highlighted the worried line of his brow. With the force of a hurricane, it sent him flying into the adjacent wall that cradled him flat upon its surface until his body slowly lost consciousness. His head rolled down as his body slowly drug itself across the stone wall, allowing him to meet the cool confinement of the marble floor.

"That's for Ron you low life parasite!" I called out towards him, daring him to stand back up for round two.

Ron stood there, the tip of his ears pink with a wide grin directing from one to the other. Vengeance was sweet even if it wasn't inflicted by his own hand.

"Mrs. Williams!" McGonagall's shrill grew in size as she stared at the girl in sheer perplexity. Her gaze quickly flittered towards Harry and Ron who's once jovial facial expressions became solemn under her supervision.

"Do try to contain yourself," she advised, surrendering her gaze back towards me. I watched on as my faith rested upon the thin line of her lips. "Hogwarts does not tolerate that kind of behavior, especially from a second year student." Perhaps it was my imagination but I could swear to it that I saw a hint of jubilance in her stone gray eyes as she scanned the unconscious Malfoy. "However," her voice became noticeably softer as it dropped a few octaves, "seeing as you are new," she treaded across her words, thinking of countless of loopholes, "punishment will not be administered this time. I must warn you though to not do it again."

I contained my smile with a word of thanks before turning back to the matter at hand, our detentions. With no more petty disturbances in the way, McGonagall was free to deliver her news. It seems that Ron was requested by Flint to hand polish all of the silver in the trophy room (which just so happens to be the majority of what the awards were made of incase you were wondering) where Harry and I were free to choose between Lockhart and Snape, the only two available for detention. This decision rested heavily upon us once McGonagall was out of sight.

"I know this must be hard on you," I turned towards Harry with optimism for striking an agreement, "having to choose between the two people you just so happen to despise the most."

Warily, Harry rose a brow, suspicion filling his movements. I decided to skip towards the point and with a small smile I announced cautiously, "So in order to lessen your burden, I call Professor Snape."

"How humble of you." The roll in his green eyes hinted towards his sarcasm. He knew fairly well of my strong dislike for the wizard with the extendable title of professor.

"At least your not polishing silver, mate." The whine in Ron's tone was highly detected by all.

"No magic!" He changed his tactics toward barking. "He's going to have me there all night!"

Hermione was quite silent upon the subject. Unable to meet our glances, it was apparent that she felt we deserved this.

With more mumbles of irritation, we left for our separate detentions. I brushed past several rigid shoulders of Slytherins and ignored their glares as I found my way to the dungeons.


	7. Just Another One of Those Days

**Something Like the Truth **

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely **

**Chapter Seven: Just another One of Those Days**

**A/N: **Sorry but this one's a bit short. Thanks for reading and special thanks to those who either added this story or left a comment. On that note, please enjoy!

* * *

With regrets high, Harry walked vigilantly into Lockhart's office. Faintly nudging the door open, he tentatively peered around it to be greeted by a flop of curly golden locks and a flash of pearly whites. Lockhart glanced up from a spill of letters upon his desk to glance over at Harry. He beckoned him further in the lion's den with another flash of a bemusing smile. Harry felt the swarm of regret as it gathered near the bottom of his stomach with every step closer he took. He made no attempt to smile in knowing it would never appear. Instead, he simply looked at Lockhart, waiting to hear all about his punishment.

"There's the scalawag!" Lockhart beamed down upon Harry, unaware of the nervous tension and pounds of reticule and regret he placed upon the small twelve year old boy.

Dragging Harry by the sleeve for the remainder of the way towards his desk, Lockhart placed Harry into a highly embellished chair that looked to be too exquisite to be owned by a teacher. A look around the heavily decorated room concluded his assumptions that it must have been artifacts from his travels. Regardless, the treasures Lockhart seemed to fancy the most were the countless number of self portraits that garnished his wall. He even had the audacity to sign a couple.

Harry moaned and sank further in to the cushion of the high back upholstery chair, his spine refusing to stand straight in this situation as it sagged limply. Its rough material scratched the surface of his bare arms, leaving him with an uncomfortable impression.

He wished he could have traded with Ron or even Abigail at the moment as Lockhart settled down into a drawn out speech of his "accomplishments." Harry would have been baffled if he actually did any number of the things he mentioned, considering he couldn't even control a minute number of pixies.

An audible sigh found no trouble in escaping his lips as he rounded up a few envelopes to address. Apparently it was his grand task of helping Lockhart with his fan mail. The benevolent ring of Lockhart's voice, uncanny as it was, when explaining his detention still rung through out his ears. Lockhart seemed to be under the impression that he was doing Harry some sort of noble favor by humbly allowing him to listen to his brags and address his fan mail.

Harry happened to stumble upon one with familiar writing as it laid partially open on the glossy oak desk. The faint scent of lilac tickled his nose as he held it securely in his hands. Lockhart was in the middle of explaining his gallant rescue of a small town from a pack of ruthless werewolves and was otherwise preoccupied, allowing time for Harry to frantically read the letter. Naturally it spoke highly of Lockhart and his travels, granting him luck on his further ones, as well as allowing means to expand his ego with kind words that were wasted upon him. Reaching the bottom he mercilessly managed to stifle a choke of laughter. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he scanned the name once more to be sure. There in perfect cursive stood Percy's name in a fresh gloss of red ink. He was slightly surprised that it did not read Prefect Percy but decided not to challenge it at the moment.

"Wonderful isn't it?" Lockhart managed to evade the limelight for a split second to check on Harry. He mistook Harry's tears of laughter, as he often did. "One of my biggest fans. He writes to me every week."

Harry felt the need to bolt out of his seat to share this with Ron and anyone else who was interested. Yet, he managed to refrain himself. He rifled through some of the other letters, realizing Lockhart wouldn't mind as long as it pertained to him. Several unknown names passed by in a daze until he came across some he recognized. There was the familiar loopy writing of Mrs. Weasley, the scratches of Neville's pen, and the perfectly straight lines of Hermione's. Harry made a mental note to discuss this further with them as well as Ron and Abigail.

The hunt for interesting letters soon became a snag in his enjoyment after realizing the majority of the letters followed a similar pattern. First they opened up with what a wonderful man Lockhart was followed by more gracious adjectives and almost always ended on 'Love' right before their name.

Harry found this, as well as listening to the continuous blabber of Lockhart, immensely boring after a while. Several times he caught his gaze wondering towards the clock, in hope of presenting it with a pleading expression will somehow quicken its pace. All his efforts remained futile as the dull ache in his hand grew significantly as he scribbled down what seemed to be the hundredth address for the evening. The purple ink blotched into several ill written numbers followed by several letters that looked to be written by a child.

Quickly adding a "yeah" into the one sided conversation Lockhart was having, Harry reached for another envelope. Every now and then Lockhart would say a phrase distinctly loud enough for Harry to hear, resulting in him unable to miss it. Words such as "fame," "celebrity," and "power" were used continually through out his speech, rendering Harry the impression of not wanting to listen.

Harry's hand sprawled out across the cream envelope, prepared to ache more as he dabbled its surface with violet ink. The bright intensity of the color seemed to blend into the lightly colored parchment producing a massive headache for him. After this experience, purple was sure to not be his favorite color.

And then it came.

A faint murmur settled through out the room, chilling it with its hiss. Harry instantly dropped his quill and strained his ears for the faint nose. It wavered in the room, tuning in and out like a rising tide. Low and barley audible, it called out through the darkness. The sputtering of his hiss quickly growing as it grew to a sound Harry could understand. Then it spoke.

"_Come_," it beckoned through out the still of the night in a voice that could freeze the living. The world seemed to pause as its gruff voice sliced the stillness of the room. The faint sound of pounding whispered in Harry's ears long enough for him to realize it was his own heart beat, strengthened by the power of adrenaline.

"_Come to me . . . Let me rip you . . . Let me tear you . . . Let me kill you._" The words dangled in the air, leaving an imprint fresh upon Harry's mind. Everything else faded to black. The spitting of the candles, Lockhart's murmurs, and even Harry's own heartbeat could no longer be heard. The only thing left was the ominous silence.

Everything flooded in all at once: the scribbling of ink against parchment, the last dying words of the candles as they fought valiantly against the wind, the incoherent babbling of Professor Lockhart, the arrhythmic pace of his own breath, the knocking his heart gave against the confinement of his chest, everything. Not for the first time in his life and certainly not the last, Harry was unsure of what to think.

Involuntarily, Harry sprang from his seat. Stray lines of violet ink collided into the letters, smudging numbers and street names. "What?" Harry heard his startled voice echo through out the room. The sharp prick of his tightened skin was hard to ignore as a ring of chills cascaded down his back, raising the hair upon his neck.

Mistaking his frazzled appearance, Lockhart beamed down upon him. "I know!" he shrieked with joy before continuing his jabber about his collected works. "Six months on top the best seller list! My boy it is a rare honor indeed!" His idyllic words contrasted greatly towards the horror of the murmurs Harry just experienced which inexorably made him question the man's continuous excitement.

"No." A dubious expression was sure to have crossed Harry's face as he hastily explained. "The voice – didn't you hear it?"

"Sorry?" Lockhart forced out a puzzled expression but still failed to conceal a faint smile, probably thinking it was all some grand joke. "What voice?"

"The voice – the voice that said – didn't you hear it?" Harry's continuous stammers were enough to gain the blatant concern of Lockhart. The color of his face drained a few pigments until it was a starch white. The bright teal in his eyes dulled to a gray as his gaze remained peculiarly fixed upon Harry.

"What are you talking about?" Lockhart nervously rubbed a pale hand over his knuckles before offering a ludicrous explanation for the unprecedented matter. "Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy. Great Scott!" he exclaimed once the realization of the time dawned on him. "And no wonder. We've been here nearly four hours! Funny how time flies, isn't it? Especially when you're having fun." He continued to explain to Harry the importance of not getting in trouble even if it is for the fame of it all. He couldn't expect a treat like this every time he received detention.

Dazed and thoroughly confused, Harry left. The small chat with Lockhart did little to settle his mind.

The grand staircase was in sight, offering countless rooms of wonder but the one Harry was only interested in was the one that offered a nice warm bed. Mentally and physically exhausted, he embarked on his journey up the stairs only to find himself staggering upon the first step.

"Are you alright Harry?" Abigail was soon beside him, offering her assistance by placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

He managed to dodge her question through his own curiosity. "Did you just get out from Snape's?"

He witnessed her brow furor as she glanced him over in a notion of suspicion. "Yes. It took a while for the silencing charm to wear off." Her voice was airy in a way that seemed to float around him, taking a minute for the words to truly sink in.

"Silencing charm?" Harry repeated incredulously as if he never heard of such a thing. "He put a silencing charm on you?" The anger was soon rising in his voice at Snape's audacity to do such a fowl thing. He was no heart of gold but this seemed incredibly rash even for him.

"Apparently he isn't a fan of show tunes," she muttered under her breath before her voice regained its composure. "You didn't answer my question. Are you okay? You look as if you've seen a ghost." Her eyes scanned his, a clash of blue against green. Something she found didn't please her for her questions continued to pester.

Ignoring his voice of conscious, he gave into his fatigue and answered any question she produced. A rushed explanation of his detention was forced into the air. He left an extremely narrow area for details as the rush of his explanation lingered upon the true basis of it, unsure if he should really confide in her with this information. In a split second decision, the air coming out of his lungs miraculously managed to turn itself into words, words that described the disembodied voice he heard earlier.

He watched on in regret as her friendly smile faltered before appearing forced while the color drained from her skin, reducing it to a translucent pigment. Her mouth unhinged itself from it clamp only for her words to be drown out by nearby footsteps.

"Loitering in the halls after hours are we?" Snape's upper lip curled in satisfaction of the hunt. "Seems another detention is in order to break your rebellious spirits."

"You just spent four hours with me, professor," Abigail's voice came off as blunt and other wise uninterested. "Do you honestly want to spend another four with me?" Her head tilted to the side in curiosity as she began to hum something that sounded distinctly familiar to West Side Story.

Harry, quite exasperated by the day's turn of events was in no particular mood either to be hounded by Snape and his infernal accusations of misdemeanor. He glared at the man, wishing it could produce the power to severally burn him. It seems his conversation with Abigail would be cut short for the evening due to a series of misfortunate events. However, it left something for them to discuss next time.

"Very well," his voice was drawn out as if he were contemplating something of great importance. "Ten points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Now, get back to your dormitories immediately." His upper lip remained curled in a snarl as his eyes narrowed down upon her.

It took little encouragement for the two students to scamper off back to their dormitories, Abigail nearly having her foot trapped by the faulty step on the stair case due to her lack of coordination.

Abigail, much like Harry, wasn't sure what to think. One thing was for certain though; nothing could prepare them for what's to come.


	8. It's My Party and I Can Die If I Want to

**Something Like the Truth **

**Book One: How to Disappear Completely**

**Chapter Eight: It's My Party and I Can Die if I Want to**

**AN**: Hope you all had a Merry Christmas and happy holidays! I just couldn't seem to stop my fingers from typing this one so it inevitable came out to be ten pages long. Hope you all find the time to read it and enjoy! Thank you all for the support and for your reviews! Please continue with them. They secretly make my day. (but shhh. Don't tell anyone.)

* * *

Waiting. It's amazing how much of our lives we spend simply waiting. I could literally feel the minutes creep by, antagonizing me. They spring upon you, frighten you and then in a blink of an eye they disappear, just a crocked little reflection of themselves. They run back down their rabbit hole, beckoning you to follow with replacement after replacement.

_Tick tock_ hinted the clock. _Tick tock_.

Then the minutes slowly crumple together forming some conceptual figure of some forgotten memory that still has the audacity to haunt the confinements of your mind. They retaliate, forming in masses called hours. They attack again, but this time they linger. They loiter upon every hesitation you once had, filling your mind with the creeping suspicion of doubt. Layering it thin upon the corners of your mind to where it spreads to the center, rendering it all you can think about.

_Tick tock. _

They weave themselves around the curves of your body, molding to your very skin, in and out through a rhythmic motion almost harmonious to the soul's amusement. Thinking nothing of it, you allow the song to continue, mesmerized by its rhythm. It takes the shape of an old familiar song, some bitter sweet memory from your childhood that you concealed some time ago, yet something you allowed yourself to never forget. You willfully let them wrap around an arm, maybe even a leg, leaving small reminders of the world that's ticking by.

_Tick tock_ they whisper faintly to the night.

They soon build upon themselves, weaving in and out. Their only thoughts are in and out, in and out. Continuing under the impression that they're harmless, you let them. And why not? There are so many others like them. All waiting. Waiting just like you.

_Tick tock_ the clock taunts.

It's all you hear because it's the only thing you _can_ hear. They whisper it in your ears at night, a bed time story you won't soon forget. Whispers slowly transform into shouts that scream at every moment of every day, each one screaming just to be heard.

_Tick tock_ they yell all at once with the force to break apart the soul and cripple the heart. _Tick Tock_!

It relentlessly builds upon the confinements of your mind, weighing it down to where you sink. You feel as if you're suffocating. Perhaps even worse. Drowning, maybe. As if the air is there but you lack the will to hold your head up long enough to reach it. Kicking and screaming, they all prove futile. You prepare for an end, an end you knew was coming.

_Tick tock!_

And then it's over.

The clock sets back as if nothing happened, a figment of your imagination, yet it still taunts you with the ticking of its hands. In a rush of emotions you find them gone, disappeared back down their warped venture of a rabbit hole. But they will be back. They always come back. I can see them flash by, deriding me with their whispers of _tick tock_. It was only a matter of time; time I can't stand waiting anymore.

I thought I could avoid them and for that I am nothing more than the naïve twelve year old that I tried so hard to escape from.

Here I am again, slowly drowning. Regardless, this time it's different. They show no sign of releasing, no flicker of hesitation. And there's no one here to through me a life preserver.

I will drown alone.

I will die alone.

When Harry told me of the voice I knew I should have said something, offer something reassuring regardless of its size. But nothing would come. It was something unexpected that took my breath away. Perhaps even stole it.

It was a piece of straw, _the_ piece of straw that could break the camel's back, thus forcing the world to recess in hesitation, leaving in all inhaled breath as I decide my path in this world. Possibilities were endless, something that never made it easy.

I should have never come here. I realized that the moment the car crashed. Out of all the things I regret doing; this may be top on the list, bolded and underlined.

I know what I have to do; I knew it all along. I have to wait for the light of this dark, drearily tunnel. Yet, the problem presents itself again.

I despise waiting.

* * *

October is coming. I can smell the promise among the crisp autumn sent the wind brings along with it. I can feel the change that rustles the leaves and turns them the color of earth. Something will happen. Something _has_ to happen. This place is bound for a change.

Harry, feeling a swarm of confusion all too familiar, has been aloof these past couple of weeks. His lack of attention shows through the pitiful state of his grades. Personally I can not find the will to blame him. It seems natural not to expect a three foot roll of parchment on tiliwamps from someone who just heard whispers of kill from an unprecedented voice. Apparently professor Snape fails to see the harm in it. His view seems to be shared by Hermione as well, always hounding Harry about his lack of academic support.

Feeling isolated and a deep sense of regret, I too have become unknowingly aloof. I spend the majority of my time with my fellow Ravenclaws, only sacrificing a slim portion of it to visit Harry and the trio. We laugh and joke like we should, still avoiding the secrets that have been shared. We remain friends but neither can ignore the wall that I have just built between us. I have been hear for him, just not the way he needs, not the way a true friend would. The topic of the voice is not one that we throw into conversation anymore. I have tried to apologize for my mistake but Harry forgives me before I even have the will to open my mouth. He repeats words of understanding and realization. He has fallen under the impression that believing is seeing, or in this case hearing. He does not blame me; he only wishes I too could hear the whispers that haunt his night.

I wish I could tell him. I wish I could tell them all.

Saturday morning found me sitting in the stands, casting off wishes for a heavier jacket in this October wind. Surrounded by fellow Ravenclaws, we looked on in horror as our fellow brethrens were massacred, each one slaughtered brutally by the hands of our enemy, the Slytherins. They were in the lead with a hundred and forty points while we were only able to score a measly fifteen.

Mack, rendered into a slack jaw and wide oppressing eyes by the atrocity of the game, sat with her head resting upon her knees. Cradling her forehead with the palm of her hand, she groaned audibly at the numerous fumbles made by our team. The matter only worsened as we all turned in a perpetual state of shocked horror to be brutally informed by Stephen's blatant report of the ample number of deaths committed by Quidditch players each year. Honestly, it was enough to force oneself to bewitch their own ears off followed by Stephen's mouth.

We fled back to our corridors, our demeanor deprived of all ecstasy even further by the royal jeers of the Slytherins that scorned us all. How I wished for a hallway with no law abiding teachers present. One flick of the wand was all that was needed. I had to ruefully remind myself of my stature. The lack of points upon Ravenclaw's mantel only added towards its diminishing reminder as the thought presented itself upon the confinements of my mind. The looks upon their faces would doubtfully be less then pleased to hear of my acts vaporizing even more or their hard earned toil. It was for the love of my brethrens that I bestowed my wand to my pocket, a place easily accessible incase my mind were to suddenly change. When I saw the self-righteous rim that coiled upon Malfoy's conceited smirk, I feared it would.

As we sat upon our leather pleated couches in wait for our team, we conversed about the upcoming Halloween celebration. Treats unimaginable by the average muggle borns' imagination were sure to grace our appearance and more importantly our hunger. All were excited, including myself. Su talked of satin and lace stricken costumes as Kevin explored the realm of sugary wonders that awaited us tomorrow. Their tone all blared the shared common interest of idle impatience, similar towards a kid who could simply not stand to wait for the fair morning of Christmas day.

Their tales of wonder were all new to me and as such I found myself deliberately hanging upon every word, refusing to miss a breath. It all sounded wonderful and I too could not wait for such an event to commence.

"I heard they have pumpkins as big as a troll," exclaimed one of the first years towards a group of his eager listening friends. They all gasped upon its size, wondering if such an exaggeration could ever be true.

"Oh, they're bigger then that," Kevin informed with a tone of audacity and just a splash of mischief. "Such a shame no one's been able to measure them properly though."

The same lanky boy who proposed the new and heavily invested, for we all awaited what Kevin had to say upon the matter, topic of pumpkins stepped forth to ask, "Why's that?" His eyes stayed transfixed upon our chatterbox of a friend, wondering what tricks an older student may place upon their ignorance.

"Well, you can't stand too close to them because of the spell Hagrid placed on them." His tongue took its time to form the words properly and as such each rang out in a state of clinched clarity. "Pity they had to figure that out the hard way." He mused, allowing the meaning of each word to toil effortlessly upon the children's minds, each one sharply dragging their feat as to make more of an ill wanted commotion.

"What happened?" A timid girl clad in thick rimmed glassed asked with a gulp held high within her throat, practically scared to swallow it for fear it would hinder the tale's effect.

Kevin continued to form the basis of his horror story by informing them all of a misfortunate event of a young boy who decided to rest upon one of the pumpkins. Apparently he was never heard from again and his screams still haunt the castle grounds. "No one knows exactly what happened to the boy," Kevin spoke solemnly, yet the ghost of a twisted smirk remained, "but no one could deny the immense size of the pumpkin after his disappearance. They swore on their lives it grew."

It was an ill devised children's story that was painstakingly false as it was immature yet several of the first years shook tremendously from the abundant mystery of the story.

Sue gracefully reached over to abruptly halt his share of story time with a far from gentle slap upon the arm. "Stop tormenting the first years." Her tone was one of exasperation that became heavily embellished by the roll of her tawny eyes tinged in their golden rim.

"Yeah, we need them to carry our books." The brusque voice of Roger Davis detonated through out the corridor, filling in every corner with its eloquence. It seemed so odd for it to be laced in such a state of mirth considering their tumble earlier upon the day. The light ring of laughter followed from those who were older than the fleeting glances the first years presented towards one another.

The teen who stood before them was traveling along the fine edge of age, dangling from the end of boyhood but so desperately close to that edge of man. His hands were weathered beaten to that fine point of scarlet tinted flesh that seemed to match his terse accent, both worn down from time. His eyes were the means by which he lives by, the very life within itself. They were the envy of all paradoxes for they seemed so strange with their light of life upon the captain of our fallen Quidditch team. His form was rigid yet his eyes whispered forms of sincerity, fool heartedness, and of course laughter.

The rest of our fallen housemates appeared behind him. One by one they edged closer towards their leader, each obscured in mud and the vague aura of defeat. Their stumbles and oddly places shuffles were weighed down by their self inflected disappointment as they approached their friends to hear there much needed commiseration. A heavy sigh rested upon all of our lips at that moment until it was passed with time; thus forcing it to be bound to the pages of history.

The night, filled with its stories of far off wonders and horrors of all hallows eve, passed by rather quickly to suddenly find itself transformed into the flooded light of morning's grace.

"Such a lovely day to die," Came the tantalizing soprano tone of Mandy's voice that seemed heightened by the occasions that were destined to take place, as if it were solely made for today. Naturally it left us contemplating our acumen of concern for the girl in its raging form of valor, yet we merely shrugged off its vulgar presence as if nothing more than the undertone of the wind. She remained, for as long as the acrimonious autumn air that trailed behind this morning's influx would allow it, perched by her window gazing longingly out its stained glass towards this world of masked frights. Her eyes were dazzled cerulean by the wonders of the day, bestowing upon them a certain round flair that seemed to overpower the rest of her timorous features.

We left her towards her admiration for we fell victim towards our morning routine that happened to share heightened preferences of food, thus righteously allowing oneself to gorge upon its worldly allure. The food, embellished by its platters of silver and gold, basked in a certain radiance of morning's first glow that allowed its first bite to waver heavenly upon the tongue. It filled our senses, allowing us to fall captive towards its enchantment, thus rendering it the only thing within our sight and sense of smell.

The day unraveled in the same pattern that followed the velocity of a sickened snail, allowing most time to be spent conversing and otherwise eating.

It was enough for me to proclaim my love for this holiday and its country's way of celebration. "If I knew that all of Britain spent its time merely eating then I would have come here a lot sooner." There agreements were made, allowing the revelation of their imbedded fascination of my home to be presented. Story time commenced once again, much to the demise of my devoted plan towards relaxation.

Conversely, it was rather abruptly halted when the sinister jeers of the Slytherins could be first made out across the Hall. It started of as nothing more than the uneducated musts of snickers and wisps of laughter here and there but later it fluctuated into name calling and braked on the verge of spell casting over time. Soon we found ourselves caught in the middle of a wagering war and I was sure to bring about their peril regardless of their acknowledgment or not.

That evening left myself outside Filch's bureau with the air of prudence hanging heavily from the marble crusted ceilings. I could feel my lips recoil even more into their thinly stretched line; their dominance marked my agitation's soon awaited arrival. One day Professor Snape will no longer be a worry of mine and when that day comes, the Slytherin Empire shall fall. Of course I will be more than delighted to see to it that it has a rather rigid one, the likes of which they will never be able to rebuild.

The bellowing noise of shouts filled the tiny cupboard space of Filch's "office" allowing it to seep through the cracks and otherwise interrupting my spite by replacing it with sheer curiosity. By the uproar forming inside it was not hard to deduce that Filch was either lecturing Peeves or the Wesley twins. Much to my amusement, for I can not stand the widely rambunctious ghost who pelted me with ink bottles upon my first day, Fred and George waltzed through the door in a rhythmic fashion that spoke highly of their accomplished transgression. They held their heads high, daring the clouds to rain upon their parade. Their light hearted smiles accompanied them as they twirled theatrically through the corridor.

"Abby!" They greeted still within their unremitting cadence. "It's nice to see you've turned to the dark side our dear friend."

Their banters pushed a form of frilled laughter from my once pursed lips allowing me to form the proper question, "What have you two done now?" in a repartee suitable towards my own wit.

"Since we are the scholars of this beloved school," George embarked on his explanation with the air of stiffened mockery that was often fond towards his character as Fred continued to drone the tune of their waltz," Fred here wondered what scientific endeavors were to occur if one were to place a Filibuster Firework inside the belly of a salamander."

"It's a question I'm sure we've all asked ourselves once in our lives." Fred eased with a humble smile.

"Naturally," I concluded, rather amused by the twin's tale of delinquency.

"The end turned out not to be kind towards our little friend." George spoke solemnly as he and his brother simultaneously rested a hand upon their inconsolable heart, wishing the salamander a final resting place of peace and free from all things fire.

"Yes but he did manage to feel like a dragon in his final hours of spiting fire." Fred momentarily paused, allowing him and his brother to gather their condolences before their ocher eyes fell charily over me, flickering between qualm and sanction. "Regardless, the question is what has brought you here towards our little hallway of misdemeanor and negligence?" George waved a hand upon the hallway theatrically at its mention.

"It was nothing really; I just got into a small brawl with Draco and the rest of the blubbering Slytherins." I explained, wavering upon my decision of expressing my relentless hot headedness.

"Did you beat him up good?" They both asked, hope blazing blindly within their eyes as it playfully pulled the corner of their lips up, leaving them all with a new reason to smile. A revelation of some variety must have apprehended my eyes for I failed to predict their lustrous admiration, yet I was gracious for it regardless of my assumptions.

"Of course." I smiled brightly upon them, transfixed within the story of our little war, "As if I would allow any other such thing to happen to a Slytherin."

"Brilliant!" Their satisfaction was laced thickly upon their intonation, allowing it to be a few octaves lower than generally presented.

"Yet, that's actually not why I'm here," I confessed mildly, wishing to not lose the twins' interest. "Professor Snape was not there to witness our little quarrel of magic for one reason or another." I'm sure it had nothing to do with me locking the Great Hall's doors or anything. Honestly, if the man doesn't know how to open a door then it's not entirely my fault. "However he did manage to catch the last bit and sentenced me here because of what I said to Draco." I'm sure the twins are well aware with my love to have the final word and suspected it would have caused me trouble someday.

"What did you tell him?" They asked in a frenzied rush of pure eagerness that forced their accent to verge on the path of indecipherable.

"That he should go build a tree house in the Whomping Willow." I added with a shrug as if it were the most common expression offered in times of opposing viewpoints. Their deep throated laughter proved otherwise.

My punishment was indeed what I had expected it to be; my suspension of the Halloween feast. Fred and George informed me of the golden trio's whereabouts and offered to bring back any sweets they could manage to fill their pockets with. With much admiration, I agreed.

Enticed by the flicker of blue flame, I vigilantly followed a corridor lined with black tinted candles that lay hopefully in the general direction that Fred and George prompted towards. With each step the air that surrounded my bare arms chilled, causing the exposed flesh to raise and condense. My breath appeared before my very eyes in swirls of blue and translucent silvers. The passageway was barren except for the thinly lined flames of candles that illuminated its bleak walls whose only provided décor were the deep embedded cracks that ran rigid upon them from age. The light filled the crevices with ease, appearing to be the sinister smiles of the castle. It all brought about a feeling of fruitless desolation that lingered upon the bones and chilled the once effervescent marrow within them.

The sound of nails rapping across a blackboard did little to improve the already horrid atmosphere. Similar towards the moaning of a storm, they shock the halls with their frequency that made the living cringe. I would have preferred to be back in detention, scrubbing caldrons clean with a toothbrush, then to be present here and have to endure what the dead enjoyed as music. Much to my bitterly ardent surprise, there were those who were found dancing towards its atrocity, as if one could form a rhythmic tune from the sound of a thousand chainsaws all shattering the night's silence at once.

Spotting Harry and the others timidly pressed into a corner, I zealously greeted them. I was beginning to feel as if I would never spot them through the murky dejection that inundated the dungeons. It lay thick upon the walls, masking all from sight. The lurid flesh of our still living bodies contrasted greatly with the translucent outlines of the ghosts that were only seen when the cobalt tinted light permitted it.

Hermione hastily informed me of their fleeting attempt at hiding; all the while her eyes were overtly scanning the area for Myrtle.

"She haunts a _toilet_?" I asked incredulously, unable to deduce why someone would ever want to take such a strong liking to one much less feel obligated in protecting it. Ron and Harry both seemed to agree with me for they both held the looks of blatant perplexity causing their brows to incline towards the center of their faces where they were met by the fold of bewilderment.

It was Hermione who spoke of reason and clarity as she listed off the reasons as to why you should not allow Myrtle into you social network. The first being her rather dreadful disposition that seems to transpire into your own over time.

"Food!" bellowed Ron, interrupting Hermione's list on a note of perpetual hunger. Not even the dead would stand in the way between Ron and his eternally ravenous stomach.

There, upon the opposite wall, laid a buffet table clad in black velvet whose silver bowled contents winked at us, impelling us to come further. We stopped short of its trance to take note of the peculiar smell.

"Sad day," I commented upon the table embellishing its rancid, molded food whose stench was enough to wake the dead. Oh look, it worked.

Ron's stomach was poignant to concur as it gave a lurch further upon the glance of large, rotten fish on handsome silver platters, cakes, burned charcoal-black, heaped on salvers, maggoty haggis, moldy cheese, and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, which held the name and date of death of Nearly-Headless Nick written on it in tar-like frosting.

If I had not witnessed with my own eyes one of their kind walking through the table with mouth a gap, I would have doubted my ability to comprehend such a thing.

Within the next moment, I was clinching my sides in seek of warmth. "Most unpleasant," I managed to utter resentfully upon Peeves theatrical arrival through me. He snickered upon my words and offered out a bowel of molded peanuts in attainment.

"Nibbles?" His offer was rejected by the green pigment that lined Ron's flesh. Hermione quickly declined as well, wishing the bowel to be placed immediately out of sight.

"I couldn't help but to overhear your distress with Myrtle," Peeves informed with sinister smile intake and eyes dancing ablaze. "Rather rude you where. Wouldn't want Myrtle to hear." It was upon that note that he took it upon his liberty to beckon the diminutive phantom from her corner of desolation and peril all the while Hermione protesting forcefully.

"You were making fun of me again. Weren't you?" Her voice droned to let out her shrill cries that seemed perpetually worse than this so called "music."

Hermione of course denied it all and tried desperately hard to pay a complement to the girl. It proved rather hard through her insufferable tears.

Revenge struck, I smiled towards Peeve who was enjoying himself all to well. "It's a good thing you didn't hear the things she said about you then." I quickly covered my mouth in a blatant attempt to mockingly hold that information within as well as my smile. Harry tried to look aghast upon my blathering actions yet it only inveigled me to smile further. Now trying to conceal a chuckle, I tried gravely to keep my expression as one of shock.

"Oh? And what did Hermione have to say?" His grey eyes swept over me stiffly, something that contrasted heavily against the vivid ginger of his jester hat. He looked strangely out of place with his crown tilted upon the axis of his head.  
"Something about the Bloody Baron being a better proteigest than you." I pursued his trance towards the spirit clad in blood tainted armor and managed to suppress a quiver. Peeves already thin lips were stretched further upon the frailness of his mouth, plummeted to nothing more than slits. I could have looked upon his mind and saw the gears turning, pity I could not see what they were turning for.

"We shall see about that," he declared with a grand exist that shook the tapestries from the walls and caused the candles to bend and sway in his presence.

"Hmm, seems I've struck a nerve." I shrugged innocently, as if its occurrence could not have been prevented.

Five minutes was all it took, simply five minutes was enough. With a chilled cackle, Peeves had managed to set the Bloody Baron's clothes aflame in a way that was remarkable and yet deadly if it weren't for the slight hesitation that he was already dead. Regardless, it rallied the headless hunt into a competition to see who could attain the phantom first. I found them disdainfully annoying and was glade to witness their embark. By the relieved expression that folded itself thick upon the crevices of Nick's translucent skin, alleviating his extensive lines of fret, I dare presume that I was not the only one.

"You should've been in Gryffindor," Ron concluded, fighting the wave of nausea the rancid food presented.

"Funny, I think my housemates were thinking the very same." I deliberated upon a dull moment only to conclude their lack of contentment with me. "They grow tired of me losing all their points."

Harry chuckled, the first vigorous rupture of laughter I've heard from him in a while. "Perhaps you shouldn't then. Hermione will likely kill us if we loose anymore." It was within that moment Hermione's eyes passed by us suspiciously.

"Do you think she knows it was me?" I asked abashed, wondering if she heard us all along. I'd rather not have a scolding by the likes of her if I could prevent it.

"Naw," the two supposed in unison.

"Well in that case, can we please go? I'm beginning to hear a rhythm in their chainsaws."

We succeeded in rescuing Hermione from the tear stained clutches of Myrtle and because of our triumph she decided to not pester us with question. Smart girl.

"Pudding might not still be over," came the barley audible grunts of one Ronald Wesley followed by the unendurable growls from the state of negligence his stomach was currently suffering through. The Great Hall was in sight, offering its worldly delights and its realm of mischief and magic upon the glamour of a thinly bound string that dangled curiously in front us. However, we never quite made it inside.

Harry stiffened, his eyes wide and alert, shoulders set equally back, head cocked to the side favoring his left ear towards the chamber's stoned wall. And then he turned his gaze towards mine, a flash of green amongst a sea of blue. "I can hear it again." His tone was one of bewilderment as well as deep seeded caution for what was to follow. Harry knew that somewhere within his adventures mind was a rational part and despite its rather minuscule size its screams of insubordination was the only thing floating between Harry's ears. That and of course the unprecedented voice. Perhaps it would be best to leave the voice alone until it can present a body to follow along side its actions?

Curiosity indubitably won.

His steps were rapid and light as if his feet were somehow transformed into air, merely gliding upon the surface of the stone floored corridor. Several times Hermione asked him to slow down and several times he failed to hear her, too entranced by the thrill of the hunt.

"What's going on Harry? What are you hearing again?" Hermione's and Ron's voice flooded out at once, tangling together within their curiosity.

"Can't you hear that?" Harry beckoned to the walls. "How can you not hear that?" Stopping upon the spur of the moment, his glance trailed up towards the heavens. "It's moving up." He paused only long enough to collect the hundreds of thoughts all bustling within his head. "How's it moving up?" He sounded winded, as if his newly found discovery took the breath from his very lungs. Fighting for the privilege to breath, he tore his gaze from the ceiling and rested them upon me.

I realize it was a rhetorical question, whom the likes of which needed no answer to remain content, but I was willing to provide one regardless of its sanction. "Follow it, Harry." My command rang clear through the miasma of uncertainty, alluring his curiosity even further, persuading it towards its edge.

"Follow it?" Hermione's cogent shrills called out towards us, beseeching our hastened insanity to become lucid even for the slightest of seconds. "We don't even know what it is!" It was too late, however. Harry was already bounding down the hall with me closely upon his heels. The others were welcome to come once their inquisitiveness took strong enough root.

"I think it's going to kill," Harry informed from ahead leaving Ron to echo from behind, finally coming to his senses and following us.

The fear and anxiety of the matter consumed us all, leaving us pale and slightly rigid from the experience. Our legs could move no faster and when Harry abruptly stopped, we nearly collided. Our last steps were ones in water, causing drops of rain to shower from the forceful pounding of our feet upon the rigid stone.

A question was forming upon my tongue but the seize of my shoulder by Hermione's hand interrupted its progress.

"Look!" She gasped between her sporadic breaths. She allowed her other hand to travel towards her capturer.

Ron forcefully clamped his hand upon my other shoulder in realization of the gravity of the matter.

Greatly towards my distaste, I was unable to suppress my flinch. "You know that hurts, right?" I cried in agitation, my shoulders surly baring bruises from their pressing fingertips. They mumbled their apologizes yet never removed their hands from the premises of my shoulders.

I could not find the will to blame them, however, for just before us lay the scarlet written letters that spelled annihilation for all muggle borns. It was draped upon the wall in foot-high words whose malice danced within the flickers of the torches' light.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

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AN: Thank you all for reading, to those who added this story into their alert, and to those who left reviews. I hope you all enjoyed this one and please feel free to leave any commentary. I'm open to any and all sugesstions as well critiques. And yes I know my spelling and grammer is horrible so there will be no need to mention that. And yes I'm terrible sorry about it even though I do use Word. Regardless, I hope you all liked it.


	9. Writing on the Walls

Something Like the Truth

Book One: How to Disappear Completely

Chapter Nine: Writing on the Walls

**Author's Note:** I greatly apologize for the wait. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I also apologize if it seems a bit rushed in the end. I just greatly wanted to post something seeing as I haven't done so in months. Special thanks to all of you have read, liked, added, and/or reviewed. I appreciate all of your feedback and your criticism. If you have any ideas that you wish to share with me or if you just want to yell at me, the review box is all yours.

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It dripped from the walls in a fabrication similar towards the crimson liquor of blood. Its E's were imbalanced, towering above the others in its slanted reach for the heavens as the S's coiled underneath their own credence of delight. Truly horrible penmanship, if I may be so inclined as to add.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood abashed before my very sight, mouths forming a fissure amongst their ashen faces. From their wide, oppressing eyes I could tell that this was not some ailing derision fashioned by the iniquitous hands of the Slytherins. There was no prank, no joke, and certainly no laughing matter. This was real. And perhaps that's what scared me the most for the truth is never an easy one to swallow.

I too must look slightly astounded for I could feel my breath leaving my lungs, never returning until a moment's desolated gasp later, all owed to my absentmindedness that breathing is of course a vital requisite. My lids fell heavily upon my eyes as I blinked in irresolution, hesitant of the veracity of this matter. I contemplated pinching myself yet saw it unfit in this certain time and place. I will have to wade in this nightmare for a moment longer.

"What do you think it means?" Hermione asked breathlessly, forcing the air to come from her lungs and form its inquisitive words. Her upper lip arched in the form of a repugnant expression that stretched across the rest of her facade as her eyes hastily scanned the lines of the arrant markings once more.

"Nothing good." My speculated words pressed forth from the air in a tainted whisper, baring calamity upon every syllable as reprimand for forcing its way through my gated lips. Nonetheless, the subsequent silence seemed to endorse my counter for no one dared to offer a punitive response to replace my own.

Ron trembled beside me, rendered speechless from the script. However, I concurred his subordination by the way his clasp tightened upon my shoulder. His fingers dug further into my flesh, painting his knuckles an insipid shade of white as they evidently left their fingerprints as reminders.

Within the burning of curiosity, I followed his gaze that trailed peculiarly bellow the writing. There, hanging by the torch's iron bracket, was Mrs. Norris. She, who is viewed rather odious by us all, hung wretchedly by her tail in a seized attempt at a hiss with her dust colored fur raised and matted, mouth curled back to embellish the sharper of her teeth, and ears pressed firmly towards the back of her skull. She was no longer a nuisance but a mockery, transformed by the very hands that may just kill us all.

Before the thoughts of running even begun to deluge our mind, we were enclosed by the rest of our classmates. Each one stopped short of their conversation as they witnessed the memorandum in a tainted shade of crimson, eyes stained gray as they scanned the words in wonder of their denotation. The hallways once filled with the low hums of conversing friends and profound sighs of contented stomachs now rested upon a dithered silence. One by one their hands fled to cover their gaping mouths. One by one they turned to face their friends for any recognition of hope or optimistic words. And one by one Hogwarts began to fall.

The first words to be spoken were perhaps not the superlative for they made us all cringe in the recognition of a blinding truth we all wished to disregard. "The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir beware?" Audacity ran wild within the blithered tone of Malfoy's possession. His eyes, generally dull in appearance, gained a spark of life that bewitched them jade as a wicked smile skimmed the surface of his visage, distorting his lips in a way unknown to the solicitousness of man. It was the type of smile that only appears from the melancholy of others.

"What Malfoy?" I sneered, feeling my upper lip rise within the vile of my words. "Just learned how to read?" I am painfully unaware of how much more of his presence I can stand. Right now it is enough to push me to the very edge of insanity. I grow quite tired of his ever persistent smug expressions and his must be bleached blond hair for it surly could not exist in our gamut of genomes to be considered natural.

"Can it, Williams!" He barked at first before the smile widened, embellishing his teeth as it strained the corners of his eyes in an aloft whorl. "Although I suspect we won't have to put up with you for much longer, you and all the other filthy Mudbloods."

This earned a chorale of laughter from the Slytherins. However, those more sensible, such as Ron and Hermione, cringed upon his words and if it weren't for their hands clasped securely over my shoulders, then I would have shown Malfoy the true color of his blood.

"What's going on here?" The gruff voice of Argus Flinch caused us all to halt our bickering long enough to stare at the man who was about to lose it all. "Come on here. Make way. Make way," Irritation was clearly present in his words as he tried to maneuver his way around Fred and George who took the liberty upon themselves to form a human barrier between him and his requested destination. Exasperated, he simply pushed passed them, not willing to put up with their antics on such a day. "Potter," his auburn eyes passed warily over the boy through their slits, allowing his voice to falter a few octaves. "What are you –" There was no longer a need for any blathered elucidation for he found for himself what we were all so inquisitively staring at. Eyes widened in a daze as his voice trembled over the name of his venerated pet.

His gaze wavered over Harry and me, and I for one could feel the heat ablaze within them. Uncertain of the proper actions to take, he settled with an expression of ache that shook our very foundation of moral coding. It was never an effortless thing to witness a man in his sorrow. Even if that man declared to be an adversary.

"You've murdered my cat," Hesitation laced his words as he tried to find the ones that matched his level of betrayal. He stumbled upon them through a mouth that was irresolute of what form to take, as if it pained him to see his beloved cat dangling wretchedly upon her iron clamp yet it killed him to admit her defeat. The influence of his words drummed clearly through the anticipated silence, causing us all to withhold our breath and quake our heads in response. He began to laugh over a curt period of time, hoarse at first but soon growing into copious chuckles. "I'll kill you," he spoke through a dubious smile as his shoulders jerked wildly within the grasp of his laugh. "I'll kill you!"

None of us questioned his tactics. We all knew what he was capable of committing and it is because of such we saw it fit to back away, offering the man space instead of our lives. By the quivering lurches of our muscles, we were all fighting the ache to vacate and recoil.

"Argus!" It was the prevailing voice of Dumbledore that saved us all. He swayed through the crowed with ease, approaching Filch in a matter of seconds despite his burden of tyrannized glances. Filch never laid eyes on Harry after that yet the anger that stitched his eyebrows up never quite left.

Lockhart stepped out next, followed by a cluster of other professors all sharing the same frenzied look of despair. His eyes swarmed over the hands clasped tightly over my shoulders and his mind began to race. "You caught the culprit!" He bellowed with a smile that melted a couple of first year girls' hearts, causing them to forget the imperiling devastation at hand. It must have melted their brains as well. "Of course I knew all along that she was a rotten one; never once complimented me and my work. Must be evil that one."

Irritated, for no other word could describe the substantial feeling growing inside me, I easily shrugged off their clasps. "Are you suggesting that I'm threatening myself, sir? Because I can see no other reason for me to write that on the wall considering that I am, indeed, muggle born."

His smile faded into a thinly lined purse, contemplation swam throughout the vibrant hue of his irises. "I suppose you could be lying. I would not hold it against someone of your stature." The words congealed upon the tip of his tongue, never quite reaching a level audible enough for the awaiting crowed to concede.

"That's quite enough Gilderoy," Dumbledore spoke earnestly as he took hold of Mrs. Norris, cradling her tentatively within his arms. "Come with me Argus. You four, too."

"But it's just an innocent splatter of blood upon the wall," I tried terribly hard to reach a conciliation, all intentions vain upon this point. "That happens to form words that spell imperiling doom for all muggle borns," I mumbled the truth in a hurried frenzy under my rigid breath, shrugging off all inept glares. After a deep sigh, I was willing to speak rationally. "We're in trouble aren't we?"

Silence was all that replied for no one else knew precisely what was brimming inside Dumbledore's mind. He was already walking ahead with his powdered spring blue robes grazing his steps.

"It's always us," mumbled Ron as he entered into a peevish state, the likes of which he will be unable to return from until a couple of hours have passed.

We followed blindly behind the headmaster, leading us towards a contiguous room. We stepped indolently into Lockhart's office with picture frames teeming with life and desk layered thick with fan mail. Curlers still in integral, a painted Lockhart peered from behind the stained gold frame of his incarceration. He eyed us all with the utmost inkling of wariness, only allowing himself to move in a nod of accord with the original Lockhart.

"It was definitely a curse that killed her – probably the Transmogrifian Torture – I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very countercurse that would have saved her . . ." The man blabbered, unaware of the animated glances of vexation we were bestowing upon him.

"Can I just stop you there, Professor?" I asked, unable to withstand the artificial tone of knowledge in his accent.

"Certainly, my dear." All eyes were turned towards me, beckoning me further with my clarification.

"Oh, I have nothing to say." I concluded once deducing that they expected more terminology upon the matter. "I merely just wanted you to stop talking." A spared glance towards Hermione was not needed in order to infer her morose expression. I could quite easily decipher her disproval through the wide scale of heat coursing through my vertebra that most noticeably occurred through her glower. However, there were those present who chose to snicker in the presence of my comment; Those such as Harry, Ron, and surprisingly the majority of faculty and staff.

"Five points from Ravenclaw for disrespectful behavior. We all hope it teaches you to hold your tongue Mrs. Williams." Snape blathered yet he was unable to deny the smirk that was commencing to emerge. Nonetheless, perhaps that was already there from the frail quandary of Mrs. Norris.

"I wasn't aware we were allowed to proceed into the negatives," came the mock of my tone, wondering how I should go about explaining this predicament to my housemates. Aliens commonly make a respectable fall back story yet would they be believable even in the real of magic?

While lost in the wilderness known as my thought, Dumbledore took the time to decipher Mrs. Norris's state. His extensively immaculate fingers clashed against the grime of her fur, causing them to be momentarily lost through a swirl of ginger, honey, fuscous, and milky white. His nose, unusually crocked for a man of such stature, pressed closely against the matted fur. His fingers continued to poke and prod as if looking for an "on" switch concealed cleverly amidst her pelt.

All the while, Filch's arid sops chocked the room of any merriment that might be left wondering about the corners. Overwhelmed, he wilted upon a wooden chair off in a far corner where he covered his face with his aged hands, too mortified to look upon the world that took his only love.

"For Pete's sake Mr. Filch, she's not dead!" I presume that there is no longer a need for me to explain my rash detest for crying, especially from grown men. I despise it perhaps because I know no way to defeat it or counter act it. I generally fall in towards its demands if it continues on for so long.

"How would you know unless you had something to do with it?" He countered through tear stained hands. I have to admit, it was not quite the response I was intending.

However, Ron had something else nagging away at the corners of his mind. "Pete?" He permitted his lips to fall over the word as his tongue shaped its existence, wondering if it was either a muggle or American term.

"See!" Filch brusquely stood from his corner of sorrow, allowing his hands to slink from his face, revealing his scarlet rimmed eyes. "She's probably murdered him too!"

"A valid observation Mr. Filch," Lockhart joined in, rendering back towards his previous accusations. "She has probably been killing for years. Of course, I knew it all along. It's quite easy to tell that she has derived from Jack the Ripper. They do share similar qualities."

"Are you done writing the novel of my murder mystery or should I explain my reasoning without your presence?" Regardless of if it were from my harsh words or the glare I was bestowing upon them, they stilled. "If she were truly dead then she would not be so stiff."

"A wise deduction Miss Williams." A small smile escaped the white covering of Dumbledore's beard before his tone turned somber once more. "Almost too wise. It seems the sorting hat was correct to place you in Ravenclaw for indeed Mr. Filch, she is not dead." The air was released from out compressed lungs, allowing us all to breath freely from the reality of death unmasking itself to be a mere illusion.

"But," was the only intelligible word out of the man as he sank back to his chair stammering. "But why is she so stiff?"

"She has been petrified." Lockhart immediately seized the new information and managed to turn it towards his advantage, rambling on about how unfortunate fate was to not grace Mrs. Norris with his presence during the attack so he could shriek and run all the way home. Of course, I may just be paraphrasing a bit.

Despite this revelation, Filch refused to let up on the belief that one of us four unlawfully committed the crime. If it wasn't me then it must be Harry. Of course, everyone rushed towards his defense. Even Lockhart saw it ailing to indict the prominent Harry Potter. Filch pressed on with his words of "squib" and "Kwikspell letter," determined to see some form of punishment administered.

"Perhaps I may be so inclined as to add," Snape drawled from the shadows, seeming out of place amongst us in the light, like the sudden flash of life from the closet where the alleged monster lurks. My sense of premonition augmented maliciously. Whatever Snape said was sure to be enough to sentence us all towards a hanging. He had that effect on people. Perhaps it was his all black attire or the way his eyes seemed to be void of all joy as if the very word was foreign to their world of dusk. (**A/N:** I have to interrupt this story for a rather obscene report. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but the first time that I wrote this I misspelled dusk for duck. When I found it I thought it was hilarious enough to share. Perhaps I'm just a dork but it made me laugh so hard that tears formed. Just imagine it will you? You're reading along a serious plot line to find duck. Completely ridiculous right? His world of duck? . . . Oh come on, that's funny! Anyways, sorry and back to the story.) The words that came next were unexpected by all. "Perhaps Potter and his friends were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time." I guess he will be receiving a Christmas card by us after all.

"However," and there it lays, the qualm that always taints his words through its malice. A deep insistent sigh came from us all, excluding all optimism that he had turned towards our side for once. We should have been wiser for we knew all along he would be inexorable. "We do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why was he in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?" He drowned over the words as the faintest hint of a curl seized his blatant lips in a perpetual state of ecstasy. He would always be deemed a rather cruel man for basking in the moments of other's misery. He was always remembered as the one smile in a room of pained frowns.

Sparing no moment's worth of hesitation for it could likely cost us all a month's worth of detention, we hastily explained our little predicament. The words seemed to hodgepodge together and conform towards some sort of literary swine composed of our broken and fragmented explanations that when it came to speak, it was quite unrecognizable and misinterpreted. Luck chose to deal us in favor for our ramblings were silenced with the clarification of Hermione's righteous tone. "We attended a deathday party. There were hundreds of ghosts there if you are in need of a witness."

"Yes but why not return towards the Great Hall? Why descend back towards your dormitories?" This conversation approached the acceleration of a snail's pace before regrettably becoming slower. It had been a severely long couple of hours and I do not think it wrong of me to wish for the one thing I truly needed at the moment; and that would be for Professor Snape to silence his accusations and halt this trivial trial in order to allow us all to proceed towards our dormitories.

I managed to last several more seconds before my patience ran thin and I lost all alleged control over my tongue. "Have you ever attended a deathday party before, professor? It has the boisterous tendency to make one lose their appetite with all the rotten food and all."

Professor Snape was mulling over my words, finding no thread to snag and watch it all unravel. It did not take long for his wish to be fulfilled for Ron's stomach let out quite a perceptible rumble from the depth of his barren intestines indicating his approaching hunger pains. A look of repentance vacated his once timorous idiom to clear space for its remorse. They would find him dead by morning if Hermione and I were to have a single hand in his assassination. It was lucky for him that we feared our conviction for carnage a great deal more than our expulsion.

"Well, it appears that Ron has found his, but doesn't he always? I am sure we would reach a famine if he were to continue with his eating habits." My words no longer contained benevolence for the ginger headed dupe. He would be the one to entangle us within the lines of our own red tape despite his friendly disposition.

"I suggest, headmaster, that these," Snape momentarily paused before resting upon a more suitable word that harmonized his tone, "delinquents are not being entirely truthful."

"And lie to you professor?" I asked in such a saccharine tone that I was sure to become ill from its sugar, "I dare say that that is not in my nature."

A deride was received as a token from his affection, all that he chose to convey upon his blank canvas of a face. Naturally Snape proclaimed that certain measures should be taken which conveniently happened to involve revoking Harry's Quidditch privileges. Professor McGonagall, after being hushed for quite some time, decided to finally grace us all with a bewildered expression and words that wielded a similar dialect. She declared it all unjust, however, we all knew her outburst to be for the fact that without Harry, Gryffindor could not even begin to fashion dreams of wining.

Bored, and possibly diseased ridden from it to a point of no return, I decided my attention would be better placed upon the golden trio who stood there as if made by wax, dripping with in anticipation from the words of the professors that burned like flames. All except for Harry, who unremarkably produced such a look of utter distaste at Snape that even I felt its raining chill. He did not bother listening towards their "appropriate punishments" with the intensity of the rest towards where he was hanging upon every word no matter their trivial merit. "Why do I get the sinking suspicion that this is just a typical day for you?"

"We are normally getting accused for something by Snape. We try not to make it a habit, but as you can see, Snape generally has other plans in store for us." I found little reassurance in his nonchalant words with his indifferent tone. It was as if this were typical routine for them all. I would greatly need to rethink the positions of my friends in what little spare time that was not detained by the fluttering pages of books or the memorization that was required to master all its lessons. It is never too late to instigate a call back for I find myself no longer in need of their mischief and the consequences that likely follow. I am perfectly capable of running our house score perfectly bellow the negatives without their help. Although, the adventures does far outweigh its price.

As their blundering performance of an argument continued, proving to be hardly anything but subtle, I took this time as a break in my day's worth of adventure, back handed compliments, and all around insubordination. Truly, I was a horrible child but, honestly, can you find the will to blame me? I just recently discovered that magic exists and now someone's arranging our deaths by it. Highly unfair if you ask for my opinion.

Regardless of my personal opinions, my gaze began to wonder until settling upon the rigid from of Mrs. Norris. She would be revived in a couple months' time, plenty of time to permit me to squander in any other delinquencies that I can imagine without the ever nagging apprehension of being caught. Absorbing the strange nature of her facade, I would be as convinced as to argue that the culprit might not have even been human. It was not in Mrs. Norris nature to hiss, she usually left the dirty work to Mr. Filch. She was merely the seeker.

"Innocent until proven guilty, Severus." The empowering words of Dumbledore silenced the quibble before it had a chance to resort towards name calling and spell casting. In an instance where that were to happen, my money would be safety secured on Professor McGonagall. "You four may go." The cerulean within the elder man's eyes coagulated towards some detrimental outline of steel as they skimmed the surface of the petrified figure of the once notorious feline. It hardly possessed the vigor to enthrall the lines that delimited his mouth and curve it towards its lack of hope. But what it lacked in strength, it made up for in idiosyncrasy. It might have slipped between the fissures in the other's attentiveness, but that did little to trump the notion that something was surly erroneous here at Hogwarts.

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**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your patience and for reading this far. I have great plans for this book and I hope that all of you will be able to see what I have in store.


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